^ 

Please 

handle  this  volume 

with  care. 

The  University  of  Connecticut 
Libraries,  Storrs 

1 

ge- 

1 

i 

/ 

BOOK  170. H99  c.  1 

HYDE  #  PRACTICAL  ETHICS 


3  T1S3  DOObeSbb  7 


\ 


5X 


\   c 


PRACTICAL   ETHICS 


BY 

WILLIAM  DeWITT  HYDE,  D.  D. 

President  of  Bowdoin  College 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY   HOLT   AND   COMPANY 

190Q 


Copyright,  1892, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO. 

93  59, 


THE   MERSHON    COMPANY   PRKSS, 
RAHWAY,    N.   J. 


PREFACE. 


The  steady  stream  of  works  on  ethics  during 
the  last  ten  years,  rising  almost  to  a  torrent  within 
the  past  few  months,  renders  it  necessary  for  even 
the  tiniest  rill  to  justify  its  slender  contribution 
to  the   already  swollen  flood. 

On  the  one  hand  treatises  abound  which  are  ex- 
haustive in  their  presentation  of  ethical  theory. 
On  the  other  hand  books  are  plenty  which  give 
good  moral  advice  with  great  elaborateness  of 
detail.  Each  type  of  work  has  its  place  and 
function.  The  one  is  excellent  mental  gymnastic 
for  the  mature;  the  other  admirable  emotional 
pabulum  for  the  childish  mind.  Neither,  however, 
is  adapted  both  to  satisfy  the  intellect  and  quicken 
the  conscience  at  that  critical  period  when  the  youth 
has  put  away  childish  things  and  is  reaching  out  after 
manly  and  womanly  ideals. 

The  book  which  shall  meet  this  want  must  have 
theory;  yet  the  theory  must  not  be  made  obtrusive, 
nor  stated  too  abstractly.  The  theory  must  be 
deeply  imbedded  in  the  structure  of  the  work;  and 
must  commend  itself,  not  by  metaphysical  deduction 
from  first  principles,  but  by  its  ability  to  compre- 


iv  PREFACE. 

hend  in  a  rational  and  intelligible  order  the  con- 
crete facts  with  which  conduct  has  to  do. 

Such  a  book  must  be  direct  and  practical.  It 
must  contain  clear-cut  presentation  of  duties  to  be 
done,  virtues  to  be  cultivated,  temptations  to  be 
overcome,  and  vices  to  be  shunned  :  yet  this  must  be 
done,  not  by  preaching  and  exhortation,  but  by 
showing  the  place  these  things  occupy  in  a  coherent 
system  of  reasoned  knowledge. 

Such  a  blending  of  theory  and  practice,  of  faith 
and  works,  is  the  aim  and  purpose  of  this  book. 

The  only  explicit  suggestions  of  theory  are  in  the 
introduction  (which  should  not  be  taken  as  the  first 
lesson)  and  in  the  last  two  chapters.  Religion  is 
presented  as  the  consummation,  rather  than  the 
foundation  of  ethics ;  and  the  brief  sketch  of  re- 
ligion in  the  concluding  chapter  is  confined  to  those 
broad  outlines  which  are  accepted,  with  more  or  less 
explicitness,  by  Jew  and  Christian,  Catholic  and 
Protestant,  Orthodox  and  Liberal. 


WILLIAM  DeWITT   HYDE. 


BowDoiN  College, 

Brunswick,  Me.  May  lo,  1892. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  fAiS*. 

Introduction, i 

I.    Food  and  Drink, 9 

II.    Dress, 19 

III.  Exercise, 25 

IV.  Work, 32 

V.    Property,  -------  40 

VI.    Exchange, 46 

VII.    Knowledge, 53 

VIII.    Time, 60 

IX.    Space,         ---.---  65 
X.    Fortune,       -------70 

XI.    Nature, 81 

XII.    Art, 89 

XIII.  Animals, 98 

XIV.  Fellow-men, 104 

XV.    The  Poor, 117 

XVI.    Wrongdoers, 127 

XVII.    Friends, i37 

XVIII.    Family, i44 

XIX.    State, i57 

XX.    Society, 167 

XXI.    Self, I79 

XXII.    God, 194 


VI 


OUTLINE  OF 


5^"  See  Last 


Object. 

Duty. 

Virtue. 

Reward. 

Food  and  drink,  . 

Vigor,  .... 

Temperance, 

Health,     .    .     . 

Dress,    .... 

Comeliness,  .     . 

Neatness,       .     . 

Respectability,  . 

Exercise,    .     .     . 

Recreation,   .     . 

Cheerfulness,     . 

Energy,    .     .     . 

Work 

Self-support,      . 

Industry,  .     .     . 

Wealth,    .     .     , 

Property,    .     .     . 

Provision,     .     . 

Economy,      .     . 

Prosperity,    .     . 

Exchange,  .     .     . 

Equivalence, 

Honesty,  .     .     . 

Self-respect, 

Sex 

Reproduction,    . 

Purity,      .     .     . 

Sweetness,     .     . 

Knowledge,     .     . 

Truth,       .     .     . 

Veracity,  .     .     . 

Confidence,  .     . 

Time,     .... 

Co-ordination,  . 

Prudence,      .     . 

Harmony,     .     . 

•Space,    .... 

System,     .     .     . 

Orderliness,  .     . 

Efficiency,     .     . 

Fortune,      .     .     . 

Superiority,  .     . 

Courage,  .     .     . 

Honor,      .     .     . 

Nature, .... 

Appreciation,     . 

Sensitiveness,     . 

Inspiration,  .     . 

Art, 

Beauty,     .     .     . 

Simplicity,     .     . 

Refinement, 

Animals,     .     .     . 

Consideration,  . 

Kindness,      .     . 

Tenderness,  .     . 

Fellow-men,  .     . 

Fellowship,  .     . 

Love,   .... 

Unity,      .    .     . 

The  Poor,  .     .     . 

Help,   .... 

Benevolence, 

Sympathy,     .     . 

Wrong-doers, 

Justice,     .     .     . 

Forgiveness, 

Reformation, 

Friends,      .     .     . 

Devotion,      .     . 

Fidelity,    .     .     . 

Affection,      .     . 

Family, .... 

Membership,      . 

Loyalty,   .     .     . 

Home,      .     .     . 

State,      .... 

Organization,     . 

Patriotism,    .     . 

Civilization,  .     . 

Society,      .     .     . 

Co-operation,     . 

Public  Spirit,     . 

Freedom,      .     . 

Self 

Realization,  .     . 

Conscientiousness 

Character,     .     . 

God, 

Obedience,    .    . 

Holiness,  .    .    . 

Life,     .     .     .    . 

PRACTICAL  ETHICS. 


Paragraph  of  Introduction. 


Vll 


Temptation. 

Vice  of  Defect. 

Vice  of  Excess. 

Penalty. 

Appetite,     .    .     . 

Asceticism,   .     . 

Intemperance,    . 

Disease. 

Vanity,       .    .    . 

Slovenliness, 

Fastidiousness,  . 

Contempt. 

Excitement,    .     . 

Morbidness, 

Frivolity,  .     .     . 

Debility. 

Ease 

Laziness,  .     .     . 

Overwork,     .     . 

Poverty. 

Indulgence^     ,     . 

Wastefulness,    . 

Miserliness,   .     . 

Want. 

Gain,      .... 

Dishonesty,  .     . 

Compliance, .     . 

Degradation. 

Lust,      .... 

Prudery,  .    .     . 

Sensuality,    .     . 

Bitterness. 

Ignorance,       .     . 

Falsehood,    .     . 

Gossip,     .    .     . 

Distrust. 

Dissipation,    ,     . 

Procrastination, 

Anxiety,         .     . 

Discord. 

Disorder,    .     .    . 

Carelessness, 

Red  Tape,     .     . 

Obstruction. 

Risk,      .... 

Cowardice,    .    . 

Gambling,     .     . 

Shame. 

Utility,  .... 

Obtuseness,  .     . 

Affectation,  .     . 

Stagnation. 

Luxury,      .    .     . 

Ugliness,  .     .    . 

Ostentation, 

Vulgarity. 

Neglect,      .    .    . 

Cruelty,    .     .     . 

Subjection,    .     . 

Brutality. 

Indifference,    .    . 

Selfishness,   .     . 

Sentimentality,  . 

Strife. 

Alienation,      .    . 

Niggardliness,  . 

Indulgence,   .     . 

Antipathy. 

Vengeance,      .    . 

Severity,   .     .     . 

Lenity,      .     .     . 

Perversity. 

Betrayal,     .    .     . 

Exclusiveness,    . 

Effusiveness, 

Isolation. 

Independence,      , 

Self-sufficiency, 

Self-obliteration, 

Loneliness. 

Spoils,    .... 

Treason,  .    .     . 

Ambition,      .     . 

Anarchy. 

Self-interest,   .     . 

Meanness,     .     . 

Officiousness,    . 

Constraint. 

Pleasure,    .    .    . 

Unscrupulousness 

Formalism,   .     . 

Corruption. 

Self-will,     .    .    . 

Sin,      .... 

Hypocrisy,     .     . 

Death. 

I 


NTRODUCTION. 


/ 


Ethics  is  the  sci^ce  of  condlfigt^iftnd  the  art  of 

life.  ^^r- -^^^^--g/- 

Life  consists  in  the  maintenai^e  of  relations ;  it 
requires  continual  adjustment;  it  intplies  external 
objects,  as  well  as  internal  forces.  Conduct  must 
have  materials  to  work  with ;  stuff  to  build  charac- 
ter out  of;  resistance  to  overcome;  objects  to  con- 
front. 

These  objects  nature  has  abundantly  provided. 
They  are  countless  as  the  sands  of  the  seashore, 
or  the  stars  of  heaven.  In  order  to  bring  them  within 
the  range  of  scientific  treatment  we  must  classify 
them,  and  select  for  study  those  classes  of  objects 
which  are  most  essential  to  life  and  conduct.  Each 
chapter  of  this  book  presents  one  of  these  funda- 
mental objects  with  which  life  and  conduct  are  im- 
mediately concerned. 

A  great  many  different  relations  are  possible  be- 
tween ourselves  and  each  one  of  these  objects.  Of 
these  many  possible  relations  some  would  be  injuri- 
ous to  ourselves;  some  would  be  destructive  of  the 
object.  Toward  each  object  there  is  one  relation, 
and  one  only,  which  at  the  same  time  best  promotes 


2  INTR0DUC7V0A'. 

the  development  of  ourselves  and  best  preserves  the 
object's  proper  use  and  worth.  The  maintenance 
of  this  ideal  union  of  self  and  object  is  our  duty 
with  reference  to  that  object. 

Which  shall  come  first  and  count  most  in  deter- 
mining this  right  relation,  self  or  object,  depends  on 
the  character  of  the  object. 

In  the  case  of  inanimate  objects,  such  as  food, 
drink,  dress,  and  property,  the  interests  of  the  self 
are  supreme.  Toward  these  things  it  is  our  right 
and  duty  to  be  sagaciously  and  supremely  selfish. 
When  persons  and  mere  things  meet,  persons  have 
absolute  right  of  way. 

When  we  come  to  ideal  objects,  such  as  knowl- 
edge, art,  Nature,  this  cool  selfishness  is  out  of  place. 
The  attempt  to  cram  knowledge,  appropriate  nature, 
and  "get  up"  art,  defeats  itself.  These  objects 
have  a  worth  in  themselves,  and  rights  of  their  own 
which  we  must  respect.  They  resent  our  attempts 
to  bring  them  into  subjection  to  ourselves.  We 
must  surrender  to  them,  we  must  take  the  attitude 
of  humble  and  self-forgetful  suitors,  if  we  would  win 
the  best  gifts  they  have  to  give,  and  claim  them  as 
our  own. 

As  we  rise  to  personal  relations,  neither  appropria- 
tion nor  surrender,  neither  egoism  nor  altruism,  nor 
indeed  any  precisely  measured  mechanical  mixture 
of  the  two,  will  solve  the  problem.  Here  the  recog- 
nition of  a  common  good,  a  commonwealth  in  which 
each  person  has  an  equal  worth  with  every  other,  is 
the  only  satisfactory  solution.     "Be  a  person,  and 


INTRODUCTION.  .3 

respect  the  personality  of  others,"  is  the  duty  in 
this  sphere. 

As  we  approach  social  institutions  we  enter  the 
presence  of  objects  which  represent  interests  vastly 
wider,  deeper,  more  enduring  than  the  interests  of 
our  individual  lives.  The  balance,  which  was  evenly 
poised  when  we  weighed  ourselves  against  other 
individuals,  now  inclines  toward  the  side  of  these 
social  institutions,  without  which  the  individual 
life  would  be  stripped  of  all  its  worth  and  dig- 
nity, apart  from  which  man  would  be  no  longer 
man.  Duty  here  demands  devotion  and  self- 
sacrifice. 

Finally,  when  we  draw  near  to  God,  who  is  the 
author  and  sustainer  of  individuals,  of  science  and 
art  and  nature,  and  of  social  institutions,  then  the 
true  relation  becomes  one  of  reverence  and  worship. 

In  each  case  duty  is  the  fullest  realization  of 
self  and  object.  Whether  self  or  the  object  shall 
be  the  determining  factor  in  the  relation  depends 
on  whether  the  object  in  question  has  less,  equal, 
or  greater  worth  than  the  individual  self. 

If  we  do  our  duty  repeatedly  and  perseveringly  in 
any  direction,  we  form  the  habit  of  doing  it,  learn 
to  enjoy  it,  and  acquire  a  preference  for  it.  This 
habitual  preference  for  a  duty  is  the  virtue  corre- 
sponding to  it. 

Virtue  is  manliness  or  womanliness.  It  is  the 
steadfast  assertion  of  what  we  see  to  be  our  duty 
against  the  solicitations  of  temptation.  Virtue  is 
mastery ;  first  of  self,  and  through  self-mastery,  the 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

mastery  of  the  objects  with  which  we  come  in 
contact. 

Since  duty  is  the  maintenance  of  self  and  its 
objects  in  highest  realization,  and  virtue  is  constant 
and  joyous  fidelity  to  duty,  it  follows  that  duty 
and  virtue  cannot  fail  of  that  enlargement  and  en- 
richment of  life  which  is  their  appropriate  reward. 

The  reward  of  virtue  will  vary  according  to  the 
duty  done  and  the  object  toward  which  it  is 
directed.  The  virtues  which  deal  with  mere  things 
will  bring  as  their  rewards  material  prosperity.  The 
virtues  which  deal  with  ideal  objects  will  have 
their  reward  in  increased  capacities,  intensified 
sensibilities,  and  elevated  tastes.  The  virtues  which 
deal  with  our  fellow-men  will  be  rewarded  by 
enlargement  of  social  sympathy,  and  deeper  tender- 
ness of  feeling.  The  virtues  which  are  directed 
toward  family,  state,  and  society,  have  their  reward 
in  that  exalted  sense  of  participation  in  great  and 
glorious  aims,  which  lift  one  up  above  the  limitations 
of  his  private  self,  and  can  make  even  death 
sweet  and  beautiful — a  glad  and  willing  offering  to 
that  larger  social  self  of  which  it  is  the  individual's 
highest  privilege  to  count  himself  a  worthy  and 
honorable  member. 

Life,  however,  is  not  this  steady  march  to  victory, 
with  beating  drums  and  flying  banners,  which,  for 
the  sake  of  continuity  in  description,  we  have  thus 
far  regarded  it.  There  are  hard  battles  to  fight ; 
and  mighty  foes  to  conquer.  We  must  now  return 
to  those  other  possible  relations  which  we  left  when 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

we  selected  for  immediate  consideration  that  one 
right  relation  which  we  call  duty. 

Since  there  is  only  one  right  relation  between  self 
and  an  object,  all  others  must  be  wrong.  These 
other  possible  relations  are  temptations.  Tempta- 
tion is  the  appeal  of  an  object  to  a  single  side  of  our 
nature  as  against  the  well-being  of  self  as  a  whole. 
Each  object  gives  rise  to  many  temptations.  "Broad 
is  the  way  that  leadeth  to  destruction." 

Just  as  duty  performed  gives  rise  to  virtue,  so 
temptation,  yielded  to,  begets  vice.  Vice  is  the 
habitual  yielding  to  temptation. 

Temptations  fall  into  two  classes.  Either  we  are 
tempted  to  neglect  an  object,  and  so  to  give  it  too 
little  influence  over  us;  or  else  we  are  tempted 
to  be  carried  away  by  an  object,  and  to  give  it  an 
excessive  and  disproportionate  place  in  our  life. 
Hence  the  resulting  vices  fall  into  two  classes. 
Vices  resulting  from  the  former  sort  of  temptation 
are  vices  of  defect.  Vices  resulting  from  the  latter 
form  of  temptation  are  vices  of  excess.  As  one  of 
these  temptations  is  usually  much  stronger  than  the 
other,  we  will  discuss  simply  the  strongest  and 
most  characteristic  temptation  in  connection  with 
each  object.  Yet  as  both  classes  of  vice  exist  with 
reference  to  every  object,  it  will  be  best  to  consider 
both. 

Vice  carries  its  penalty  in  its  own  nature.  Being 
a  perversion  of  some  object,  it  renders  impossible 
that  realization  of  ourselves  through  the  object,  or 
in  the  higher  relations,  that  realization  of  the  object 


6  IN  TROD  UC  TION. 

through  us,  on  which  the  harmony  and  completeness 
of  our  life  depends.  In  the  words  of  Plato:  "Virtue 
is  the  health  and  beauty  and  well-being  of  the  soul, 
and  vice  is  the  disease  and  weakness  and  deformity 
of  the  soul." 

Each  chapter  will  follow  the  order  here  devel- 
oped. The  outline  on  pp.  x,  xi  shows  the  logical 
framework  on  which  the  book  is  constructed.  Un- 
der the  limitations  of  such  a  table,  confined  to  a 
single  term  in  every  case,  it  is  of  course  impossible 
to  avoid  the  appearance  of  artificiality  of  form  and 
inadequacy  of  treatment.  This  collection  of  dry 
bones  is  offered  as  the  easiest  way  of  exhibiting  at  a 
glance  the  conception  of  ethics  as  an  organic  whole 
of  interrelated  members :  a  conception  it  would  be 
impossible  to  present  in  any  other  form  without 
entering  upon  metaphysical  inquiries  altogether 
foreign  to  the  practical  purpose  of  the  book. 


PRACTICAL    ETHICS. 


PRACTICAL   ETHICS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  foundations  of  life,  and  therefore  the  first 
concerns  of  conduct,  are  food  and  drink.  Other 
things  are  essential  if  we  are  to  live  comfortably  and 
honorably.  Food  and  drink  are  essential  if  we  are  to 
live  at  all.  In  order  that  we  may  not  neglect  these 
important  objects,  nature  has  placed  on  guard  over 
the  body  two  sentinels,  hunger  and  thirst,  to  warn 
us  whenever  fresh  supplies  of  food  and  drink  are 
needed. 

THE  DUTY. 

Body  and  mind  to  be  kept  in  good  working 
order. — In  response  to  these  warnings  it  is  our 
duty  to  eat  and  drink  such  things,  in  such  quanti- 
ties, at  such  times,  and  in  such  ways  as  will  render 
the  body  the  most  efficient  organ  and  expression  of 
the  mind  and  will. 

Hygiene  and  physiology,  and  our  own  experience 
and  common  sense,  tell  us  in  detail  what,  when,  and 
how  much  it  is  best  for  us  to  eat  and  drink.  Ethics 
presupposes  this  knowledge,  and  simply   tells    us 


lo  FOOD  AND  DRINK. 

that  these  laws  of  hygiene  and  physiology  are  our 
best  friends ;  and  that  it  is  our  duty  to  heed  what 
they  say. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Temperance  is  self-control. — These  sentinels 
tell  us  when  to  begin  ;  but  they  do  not  always  tell 
us  when  to  leave  off :  and  if  they  do,  it  sometimes 
requires  special  effort  to  heed  the  warning  that  they 
give.  The  appetite  for  food  and  drink,  if  left  to  it- 
self, would  run  away  with  us.  Our  liking  for  what 
tastes  good,  if  allowed  to  have  its  own  way,  would 
lead  us  to  eat  and  drink  such  things  and  in  such 
quantities  as  to  weaken  our  stomachs,  enfeeble  our 
muscles,  muddle  our  brains,  impair  our  health,  and 
shorten  our  lives.  Temperance  puts  bits  into  the 
mouth  of  appetite  ;  holds  a  tight  rein  over  it ;  com- 
pels it  to  go,  not  where  it  pleases  to  take  us,  but 
where  we  see  that  it  is  best  for  us  to  go  ;  and  trains 
it  to  stop  when  it  has  gone  far  enough. 

Virtue  means  manliness.  Temperance  is  a  virtue 
because  it  calls  into  play  that  strong,  firm  will 
which  is  the  most  manly  thing  in  us.  The  temper- 
ate man  is  the  strong  man.  For  he  is  the  master, 
not  the  slave  of  his  appetites.  He  is  lord  of  his 
own  life. 

THE  REWARD. 

The  temperate  man  has  all  his  powers  per- 
petually at  their  best. — Into  work  or  play  or  study 
he  enters  with  the  energy  and  zest  which  come  of 
good  digestion,  strong  muscles,  steady  nerves,  and  a 


THE    temptation:  11 

clear  head.  He  works  hard,  plays  a  strong  game, 
thinks  quickly  and  clearly  ;  because  he  has  a  surplus 
of  vitality  to  throw  into  whatever  he  undertakes. 
He  prospers  in  business  because  he  is  able  to  pro- 
secute it  with  energy.  He  makes  friends  because 
he  has  the  cheerfulness  and  vivacity  which  is  the 
charm  of  good-fellowship.  He  enjoys  life  because 
all  its  powers  are  at  his  command. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

The  pleasures  of  taste  an  incidental  good, 
but  not  the  ultimate  good.— Food  tastes  good  to 
the  hungry,  and  to  the  thirsty  drinking  is  a  keen 
delight.  This  is  a  kind  and  wise  provision  of 
nature;  and  as  long  as  this  pleasure  accompanies 
eating  and  drinking  in  a  normal  and  natural  way  it 
aids  digestion  and  promotes  health  and  vigor.  The 
more  we  enjoy  our  food  the  better ;  and  food,  well- 
cooked,  well-served,  and  eaten  in  a  happy  and 
congenial  company,  is  vastly  better  for  us  than  the 
same  food  poorly  cooked,  poorly  served,  and  de- 
voured in  solitude  and  silence. 

Yet  it  is  possible  to  make  this  pleasure  which 
accompanies  eating  and  drinking  the  end  for  the 
sake  of  which  we  eat  and  drink.  The  temptation 
is  to  eat  and  drink  what  we  like  and  as  much  as  we 
like  ;  instead  of  what  we  know  to  be  best  for  us. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

The  difference  between  temperance  and 
asceticism. — Asceticism    looks     like    temperance. 


12  FOOD  AND  DRINK. 

People  who  practice  it  often  pride  themselves  upon 
it.  But  it  is  a  hollow  sham.  And  it  has  done 
much  to  bring  discredit  upon  temperance,  for  which 
it  tries  to  pass.  What  then  is  the  difference  be- 
tween temperance  and  asceticism  ?  Both  control 
appetite.  Both  are  opposed  to  intemperance.  But 
they  differ  in  the  ends  at  which  they  aim.  Tem- 
perance controls  appetite  for  the  sake  of  greater 
life  and  health  and  strength.  Asceticism  is  the 
control  of  appetite  merely  for  the  sake  of  control- 
ling it.  Asceticism,  in  shunning  the  evils  to  which 
food  and  drink  may  lead,  misses  also  the  best  bless- 
ings they  are  able  to  confer.  The  ascetic  attempts 
to  regulate  by  rule  and  measure  everything  he  eats 
and  drinks,  and  to  get  along  with  just  as  little  as 
possible,  and  so  he  misses  the  good  cheer  and 
hearty  enjoyment  which  should  be  the  best  part  of 
every  meal. 

Let  us  be  careful  not  to  confound  sour,  lean, 
dyspeptic  asceticism  with  the  hale,  hearty  virtue  of 
temperance.  Asceticism  sacrifices  vigor  and  vitality 
for  the  sake  of  keeping  its  rules  and  exercising  self- 
control.  Temperance  observes  the  simple  rules  of 
hygiene  and  common  sense  for  the  sake  of  vigor 
and  vitality ;  and  sacrifices  the  pleasures  of  the 
palate  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  necessary  in  order  to 
secure  in  their  greatest  intensity  and  permanence 
the  larger  and  higher  interests  of  life. 


THE    VICES  OF  EXCESS,  I3 


THE  VICES  OF  EXCESS. 


Intemperance  in  eating  is  gluttony.  Intem- 
perance in    drinking   leads  to  drunkenness. — 

Instead  of  sitting  in  the  seat  of  reason  and  driving 
the  appetites  before  him  in  obedience  to  his  will, 
the  glutton  and  the  drunkard  harness  themselves 
into  the  wagon  and  put  reins  and  whip  into  the 
hands  of  their  appetites. 

The  glutton  lives  to  eat ;  instead  of  eating  to 
live.  This  vice  is  so  odious  and  contemptible  that 
few  persons  give  themselves  up  entirely  to  gluttony. 
Yet  every  time  we  eat  what  we  know  is  not  good 
for  us,  or  more  than  is  good  for  us,  we  fall  a  victim 
to  this  loathsome  vice. 

The  drunkard  is  the  slave  of  an  unnatural 
thirst. — Alchoholic  drink  produces  as  its  first  effect 
an  excitement  and  exhilaration  much  more  intense 
than  any  pleasure  coming  from  the  normal  gratifica- 
tion of  natural  appetite.  This  exhilaration  is  pur- 
chased at  the  expense  of  stimulating  the  system  to 
abnormal  exertion.  This  excessive  action  of  the 
system  during  intoxication  is  followed  by  a  corre- 
sponding reaction.  The  man  feels  as  much  worse 
than  usual  during  the  hours  and  days  that  follow 
his  debauch,  as  he  felt  better  than  usual  during  the 
brief  moments  that  he  was  taking  his  drinks.  This 
depression  and  disturbance  of  the  system  which 
follows  indulgence  in  intoxicating  drink  begets  an 
unnatural  and  incessant  craving  for  a  repetition  of 
the  stimulus ;  and  so  in  place  of  the  even,  steady 


14  FOOD  AND  DRINK. 

life  of  the  temperate  man,  the  drinking  man's  life  is 
a  perpetual  alternation  of  brief  moments  of  un- 
natural excitement,  followed  by  long  days  of  un- 
natural craving  and  depression.  The  habit  of  in- 
dulging this  unnatural  craving  steals  upon  a  man 
unawares;  it  occupies  more  and  more  of  his 
thought ;  takes  more  and  more  of  his  time  and 
money,  until  he  is  unable  to  think  or  care  for 
anything  else.  It  becomes  more  important  to  him 
than  business,  home,  wife,  children,  reputation,  or 
character ;  and  before  he  knows  it  he  finds  that  his 
will  is  undermined,  reason  is  dethroned,  affection  is 
dead,  appetite  has  become  his  master,  and  he  has 
become  its  beastly  and  degraded  slave. 

Total  abstinence  the  only  sure  defense. — 
This  vice  of  intemperance  is  so  prevalent  in  the  com- 
munity, so  insidious  in  its  approach,  so  degrading 
in  its  nature,  so  terrible  in  its  effects,  that  the  only 
absolutely  and  universally  sure  defense  against  it  is 
total  abstinence.  A  man  may  think  himself  strong 
enough  to  stop  drinking  when  and  where  he  pleases  ; 
but  the  peculiar  and  fatal  deception  about  intoxicat- 
ing drink  is  that  it  makes  those  who  become  its  vic- 
tims weaker  to  resist  it  with  every  indulgence.  It 
enfeebles  their  wills  directly.  The  fact  that  a  man 
can  stop  drinking  to-day  is  no  sure  sign  that  he  can 
drink  moderately  for  a  year  and  stop  then.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  he  will  have  a  different  body,  a 
different  brain,  a  different  mind,  a  different  will  from 
the  body  and  mind  and  will  he  has  to-day,  and  would 
have  after  a  year  of  abstinence. 


THE    VICES  OF  EXCESS.  1$ 

As  we  have  seen,  with  every  natural  and  healthy 
exercise  of  our  appetites  and  faculties  moderation  is 
preferable  to  abstinence.  It  is  better  to  direct 
them  toward  the  ends  they  are  intended  to  accom- 
plish that  to  stifle  and  suppress  them.  But  the 
thirst  for  intoxicating  drink  is  unnatural.  It 
creates  abnormal  cravings;  it  produces  diseased 
conditions  which  corrupt  and  destroy  the  very 
powers  of  nerve  and  brain  on  which  the  faculties 
of  reason  and  control  depend.  "  Touch  not,  taste 
not,  handle  not,"  is  the  only  rule  that  can  insure 
one  against  the  fearful  ravages  of  this  beastly  and  in- 
human vice. 

Responsibility  for  social  influence.— A  strong 
argument  in  favor  of  abstinence  from  intoxicating 
drink  is  its  beneficial  social  influence.  If  there  are 
two  bridges  across  a  stream,  one  safe  and  sure, 
the  other  so  shaky  and  treacherous  that  a  large  pro- 
portion of  all  who  try  to  cross  over  it  fall  into  the 
stream  and  are  drowned  ;  the  fact  that  I  happen  to 
have  sufificiently  cool  head  and  steady  nerves  to  walk 
over  it  in  safety  does  not  make  it  right  for  me  to 
do  so,  when  I  know  that  my  companionship  and 
example  will  lead  many  to  follow  who  will  certainly 
perish  in  the  attempt. 

Mild  wines  and  milder  climates  may  render  the 
moderate  use  of  alchoholic  drinks  comparatively 
harmless  to  races  less  nervously  organized  than  ours. 
And  there  doubtless  are  individuals  in  our  midst 
whose  strong  constitution,  phlegmatic  temperament, 
or  social  training  enable  them  to  use  wine  daily  for 


1 6  FOOD  AND  DRINK. 

years  without  appreciable  injury.  They  can  walk 
with  comparative  safety  the  narrow  bridge.  There 
are  multitudes  who  cannot.  There  are  tens  of  thou- 
sands for  whom  our  distilled  liquors,  open  saloons, 
and  treating  customs,  combined  with  our  trying  cli- 
mate and  nervous  organizations,  render  moderate 
drinking  practically  impossible.  They  must  choose 
between  the  safe  and  sure  way  of  total  abstinence, 
or  the  fatal  plunge  into  drunkenness  and  disgrace. 
And  if  those  who  are  endowed  with  cooler  heads 
and  stronger  nerves  are  mindful  of  their  social  duty 
to  these  weaker  brethren,  among  whom  are  some 
of  the  most  generous  and  noble-hearted  of  our  ac- 
quaintances and  friends,  then  for  the  sake  of  these 
more  sorely  tempted  ones,  and  for  the  sake  of  their 
mothers,  wives,  and  sisters  to  whom  a  drunken  son, 
husband,  or  brother  is  a  sorrow  worse  than  death, 
they  will  forego  a  trifling  pleasure  in  order  to  avert 
the  ruin  that  their  example  would  otherwise  help 
to  bring  on  the  lives,  fortunes,  and  families  of 
others. 

Fatal  fascination  of  the  opium  habit.— What 
has  been  said  of  alcoholic  drink  is  equally  true  of 
opium.  The  habit  of  using  opium  is  easy  to  form 
and  almost  impossible  to  break.  The  secret  work- 
ings of  this  poison  upon  the  mind  and  will  of  its 
victim  are  most  insidious  and  fatal. 

Tobacco  a  serious  injury  to  growing  persons. 
— On  this  point  all  teachers  are  unanimous.  Statis- 
tics taken  at  the  naval  school  at  Annapolis,  at  Yale 
College,    and     elsewhere,    show    that    the    use    of 


THE  PENALTY,  17 

tobacco  IS  the  exception  with  scholars  at  the 
head,  and  the  rule  with  scholars  at  the  foot  of 
the  class. 

Shortly  after  we  began  to  take  statistics  on  this 
point  in  Bowdoin  College  I  asked  the  director  of 
the  gymnasium  what  was  the  result  with  the  Fresh- 
man class?  "  Oh,"  he  said,  ^'  the  list  of  the  smokers 
is  substantially  the  same  as  that  which  was  reported 
the  other  day  for  deficiencies  in  scholarship."  A 
prominent  educator,  who  had  given  considerable  at- 
tention to  this  subject,  after  spending  an  hour  in  my 
recitation  room  with  a  class  of  college  seniors,  indi- 
cated with  perfect  accuracy  the  habitual  and  exces- 
sive smokers,  sim.ply  by  noting  the  eye,  manner,  and 
complexion. 

Tobacco,  used  in  early  life,  tends  to  stunt  the 
growth,  weaken  the  eyes,  shatter  the  nervous  system, 
and  impair  the  powers  of  physical  endurance  and 
mental  application.  No  candidate  for  a  college 
athletic  team,  or  contestant  in  a  race,  would  think 
of  using  tobacco  while  in  training.  Every  man  who 
wishes  to  keep  himself  in  training  for  the  highest 
prizes  in  business  and  professional  life  must  guard 
his  early  years  from  the  deterioration  which  this 
habit  invariably  brings. 

THE  PENALTY. 

These   vices  bring   disease    and  disgrace. — 

These  vices  put  in  place  of  physical  well-being  the 
gratification  of  a  particular  taste  and  appetite. 
Hence  they  bring  about   the  abnormal  action    of 


iS  FOOD  AND  DRINK. 

some  organs  at  the  expense  of  all  the  rest ;  and  this 
is  the  essence  of  disease. 

A  diseased  body  causes  a  disordered  mind  and  an 
enfeebled  will.  The  excessive  and  over-stimulated 
activity  of  one  set  of  organs  involves  a  correspond- 
ing defect  in  the  activity  and  functions  of  the  other 
faculties.  The  glutton  or  drunkard  neglects  his 
business  ;  loses  interest  in  reading  and  study  ;  fails  to 
provide  for  his  family;  forfeits  self-respect;  and 
thus  brings  upon  himself  poverty  and  wretchedness 
and  shame.  He  sinks  lower  and  lower  in  the  social 
scale  ;  grows  more  and  more  a  burden  to  others  and 
a  disgrace  to  himself;  and  at  last  ends  a  worthless 
and  ignominious  life  in  an  unwept  and  dishonored 
grave. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Next  in  importance  to  food  and  drink  stand 
clothing  and  shelter.  Without  substantial  and  per- 
manent protection  against  cold  and  rain,  without 
decent  covering  for  the  body  and  privacy  of  life, 
civilization  is  impossible.  The  clothes  we  wear  ex- 
press the  standing  choices  of  our  will ;  and  as  clothes 
come  closer  to  our  bodies  than  anything  else, 
they  stand  as  the  most  immediate  and  obvious  ex- 
pression of  our  mind.  ''  The  apparel  oft  proclaims 
the  man." 

THE  DUTY. 

Attractive  personal  appearance. —Clothes  that 
fit,  colors  that  match,  cosy  houses  and  cheery 
rooms  cost  little  more,  except  in  thought  and  at- 
tention, than  ill-fitting  and  unbecoming  garments 
and  gloomy  and  unsightly  dwellings.  Attractive- 
ness of  dress,  surroundings,  and  personal  appearance 
is  a  duty  ;  because  it  gives  free  exercise  to  our  higher 
and  nobler  sentiments ;  elevates  and  enlarges  our 
lives  ;  while  discomfort  and  repulsiveness  in  these 
things  lower  our  standards,  and  drive  us  to  the 
baser  elements  of  our  nature  in  search  of  cheap 
forms  of  self-indulgence  to  take  the  place  of  that 

19 


»0  DRESS. 

natural  delight  in  attractive  dress  and  surroundings 
which  has  been  repressed.  Both  to  ourselves  and 
to  our  friends  we  owe  as  much  attractiveness  of 
personal  surroundings  and  personal  appearance  as  a 
reasonable  amount  of  thought  and  effort  and  ex- 
penditure can  secure. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Neatness  inexpensive  and  its  absence  inex- 
cusable.— No  one  is  so  poor  that  he  cannot  afford 
to  be  neat.  No  one  is  so  rich  that  he  can  afford  to 
be  slovenly.  Neatness  is  a  virtue,  or  manly  quality  ; 
because  it  keeps  the  things  we  wear  and  have  about 
us  under  our  control,  and  compels  them  to  express 
our  will  and  purpose. 

THE  REWARD. 

Dress  an  indication  of  the  worth  of  the 
wearer. — Neatness  of  dress  and  personal  appearance 
indicates  that  there  is  some  regard  for  decency  and 
propriety,  some  love  of  order  and  beauty,  some 
strength  of  will  and  purpose  inside  the  garments. 
If  dress  is  the  most  superficial  aspect  of  a  person, 
it  is  at  the  same  time  the  most  obvious  one.  Our 
first  impression  of  people  is  gained  from  their  gen- 
eral appearance,  of  which  dress  is  one  of  the  most 
important  features. 

Consequently  dress  goes  far  to  determine  the  es- 
timate people  place  upon  us.  Fuller  acquaintance 
may  compel  a  revision  of  these  original  impressions. 
First  impressions,  however,  often  decide   our   fate 


THE    TEMPTATION.  ai 

With  people  whose  respect  and  good-will  is  valuable 
to  us.  Important  positions  are  often  won  or  lost 
through  attention  or  neglect  in  these  matters. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Dress  has  its  snares.— We  are  tempted  to  care, 
not  for  attractiveness  in  itself,  but  for  the  satisfac- 
tion of  thinking,  and  having  others  think,  how  fine 
we  look.  Worse  still,  we  are  tempted  to  try  to  look 
not  as  well  as  we  can,  but  better  than  somebody 
else ;  and  by  this  combination  of  rivalry  with  van- 
ity we  get  the  most  contemptible  and  pitiable 
level  to  which  perversity  in  dress  can  bring  us. 
There  is  no  end  to  the  ridiculous  and  injurious 
absurdities  to  which  this  hollow  vanity  will  lead 
those  who  are  silly  enough  to  yield  to  its  de- 
mands. 

Cynicism  regarding  appearance.— Vanity  may 
take  just  the  opposite  form.  We  may  be  just  as 
proud  of  our  bad  looks,  as  of  our  good  looks. 
This  is  the  trick  of  the  Cynic.  This  is  the  reason 
why  almost  every  town  has  its  old  codger  who  seems 
to  delight  in  wearing  the  shabbiest  coat,  and  driving 
the  poorest  horse,  and  living  in  the  most  dilapidated 
shanty  of  anyone  in  town.  These  persons  take  as 
much  pride  in  their  mode  of  life  as  the  devotee  of 
fashion  does  in  hers.  One  of  these  Cynics  went  to 
the  baths  with  Alcibiades,  the  gayest  of  Athenian 
youths.  When  they  came  out  Alcibiades  put  on  the 
Cynic's  rags,  leaving  his  own  gay  and  costly  apparel 
for  the  Cynic.     The  Cynic  was  in  a  great  rage,  and 


22  DRESS. 

protested  that  he  would  not  be  seen  wearing  such 
gaudy  things  as  those.  "  Ah  !  "  said  Alcibiades  ;  "  so 
you  care  more  what  kind  of  clothes  you  wear  than  I 
do  after  all;  for  I  can  wear  your  clothes,  but  you 
cannot  wear  mine."  Another  of  the  Cynics,  as  he  en- 
tered the  elegant  apartments  of  Plato,  spat  upon  the 
rug,  exclaiming:  **Thus  I  pour  contempt  on  the 
pride  of  Plato."  "Yes,"  was  Plato's  reply,  ''with  a 
greater  pride  of  your  own."  Since  pride  and  vanity 
have  these  two  forms,  we  need  to  be  on  our  guard 
against  them  both.  For  one  or  the  other  is  pretty 
sure  to  assail  us.  An  eye  single  to  the  attractive- 
ness of  our  personal  appearance  is  the  only  thing 
that  will  save  us  from  one  or  the  other  of  these  lines 
of  temptation. 

THE  VICE  OF    DEFECT. 

Too  little  attention  to  dress  and  surroundings 
is  slovenliness. — The  sloven  is  known  by  his  dirty 
hands  and  face,  his  disheveled  hair,  and  tattered  gar- 
ments. His  house  is  in  confusion  ;  his  grounds  are 
littered  with  rubbish;  he  eats  his  meals  at  an  untidy 
table;  and  sleeps  in  an  unmade  bed.  Slovenliness 
is  a  vice  ;  for  it  is  an  open  confession  that  a  man 
is  too  weak  to  make  his  surroundings  the  expres- 
sion of  his  tastes  and  wishes,  and  has  allowed  his 
surroundings  to  run  over  him  and  drag  him  down 
to  their  own  level.  And  this  subjection  of  man  to 
the  tyranny  of  things,  when  he  ought  to  exercise  a 
strong  dominion  over  them,  is  the  universal  mark  of 
vice. 


THE    VICE   OF  EXCESS.  2$ 


THE   VICE  OF  EXCESS. 


Too  much  attention  to  dress  and  appearance 
is  fastidiousness. — These  things  are  important ; 
but  it  is  a  very  petty  and  empty  mind  that  can 
find  enough  in  them  to  occupy  any  considerable  por- 
tion of  its  total  attention  and  energy.  The  fastidi- 
ous person  must  have  everything  **just  so,"  or  the 
whole  happiness  of  his  precious  self  is  utterly 
ruined.  He  spends  hours  upon  toilet  and  wardrobe 
where  sensible  people  spend  minutes.  Hence  he  be- 
comes the  slave  rather  than  the  master  of  his  dress. 

The  sloven  and  the  dude  are  both  slaves ; 
but  in  different  ways. — Slovenliness  is  slavery  to 
the  hideous  and  repulsive.  Fastidiousness  is  slavery 
to  this  or  that  particular  style  or  fashion.  The  free- 
dom and  mastery  of  neatness  consists  in  the  ability 
to  make  as  attractive  as  possible  just  such  material 
as  one's  means  place  at  his  disposal  with  the  amount 
of  time  and  effort  he  can  reasonably  devote  to 
them. 

THE  PENALTY. 

Fastidiousness  belittles  :  slovenliness  de- 
grades.    Both  are  contemptible. — The  man  who 

does  not  care  enough  for  himself  to  keep  the  dirt  off 
his  hands  and  clothes,  when  not  actually  en- 
gaged in  work  that  soils  them,  cannot  complain  if 
other  people  place  no  higher  estimate  upon  him  than 
he  by  this  slovenliness  puts  upon  himself.  The 
woman  whose  soul  rises  and  falls  the  whole  distance 


24  DRESS. 

between  ecstasy  and  despair  with  the  fit  of  a  glove  or 
the  shade  of  a  ribbon  must  not  wonder  if  people  rate 
her  as  of  about  equal  consequence  with  gloves  and 
ribbons.  These  vices  make  their  victims  low  and 
petty  ;  and  the  contempt  with  which  they  are  re- 
garded is  simply  the  recognition  of  the  pettiness  and 
degradation  which  the  vices  have  begotten. 


CHAPTER   III. 

When  the  body  is  well  fed  and  clothed,  the  next 
demand  is  for  exercise.  Our  powers  are  given  us  to 
be  used ;  and  unless  they  are  used  they  waste  away. 
Nothing  destroys  power  so  surely  and  completely 
as  disuse.  The  only  way  to  keep  our  powers  is 
to  keep  them  in  exercise.  We  acquire  the  power 
to  lift  by  lifting;  to  run,  by  running;  to  write, 
by  writing ;  to  talk,  by  talking  ;  to  build  houses, 
by  building ;  to  trade,  by  trading.  In  mature 
life  our  exercise  comes  to  us  chiefly  along  the 
lines  of  our  business,  domestic,  and  social  rela- 
tions. In  childhood  and  youth,  before  the  pres- 
sure of  earning  a  living  comes  upon  us,  we  must 
provide  for  needed  exercise  in  artificial  ways.  The 
play-impulse  is  nature's  provision  for  this  need.  It 
is  by  hearty,  vigorous  play  that  we  first  gain 
command  of  those  powers  on  which  our  future  abil- 
ity to  do  good  work  depends. 

THE  DUTY. 

The  best  exercise  that  of  which  we  are  least 
conscious. — It  is  the  duty  of  every  grown  person  as 
well  as  of  every  child  to  take  time  for  recreation. 
Exercise  taken  in  a  systematic  way  for  its  own  sake 

'5 


26  EXERCISE. 

is  a  great  deal  better  than  nothing;  and  in  crowded 
schools  and  in  sedentary  occupations  such  gymnastic 
exercises  are  the  best  thing  that  can  be  had.  The  best 
exercise,  however,  is  not  that  which  we  get  when  we 
aim  at  it  directly  ;  but  that  which  comes  incidentally 
in  connection  with  sport  and  recreation.  A  plunge 
into  the  river  ;  a  climb  over  the  hills  ;  a  hunt  through 
the  woods  ;  a  skate  on  the  pond  ;  a  wade  in  the 
trout  brook  ;  a  ride  on  horseback ;  a  sail  on  the 
lake  ;  camping  out  in  the  forest  ; — these  are  the  best 
ways  to  take  exercise.  For  in  these  ways  we  have 
such  a  good  time  that  we  do  not  think  about  the 
exercise  at  all ;  and  we  put  forth  ten  times  the 
amount  of  exertion  that  we  should  if  we  were 
to  stop  and  think  how  much  exercise  we  proposed 
to  take. 

Next  in  value  to  these  natural  outdoor  sports 
come  the  artificial  games ;  baseball,  football,  hare 
and  hounds,  lawn  tennis,  croquet,  and  hockey.  When 
neither  natural  nor  artificial  sports  can  be  had,  then 
the  dumb-bells,  the  Indian  clubs,  and  the  foils  be- 
come a  necessity. 

Everyone  should  become  proficient  in  as  many 
of  these  sports  as  possible.  These  are  the  resources 
from  which  the  stores  of  vitality  and  energy  must 
be  supplied  in  youth,  and  replenished  in  later  life. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

The  value  of  superfluous  energy. — The  person 
whose  own  life-forces  are  at  their  best  cannot  help 
flowing  over  in  exuberant  gladness  to  gladden  all  he 


THE  REWARD.  27 

meets.  Herbert  Spencer  has  set  this  forth  so 
strongly  in  his  Data  of  Ethics  that  I  quote  his 
words:  "  Bounding  out  of  bed  after  an  unbroken 
sleep,  singing  or  whistling  as  he  dresses,  coming 
down  with  beaming  face  ready  to  laugh  at  the 
slightest  provocation,  the  healthy  man  of  high 
powers  enters  on  the  day's  business  not  with  repug- 
nance but  with  gladness  ;  and  from  hour  to  hour 
experiencing  satisfaction  from  work  effectually 
done,  comes  home  with  an  abundant  surplus  of 
energy  remaining  for  hours  of  relaxation.  Full  of 
vivacity,  he  is  ever  welcome.  For  his  wife  he  has 
smiles  and  jocose  speeches  ;  for  his  children  stories 
of  fun  and  play  ;  for  his  friends  pleasant  talk  inter- 
spersed with  the  sallies  of  wit  that  come  from  buoy- 
ancy." 

THE  REWARD. 

**  Unto  everyone  that  hath  shall  be  given,  and  he 
shall  have  abundance."  The  reward  of  exertion  is 
the  power  to  make  more  exertion  the  next  time. 
And  the  reward  of  habits  of  regular  exercise  and 
habitual  cheerfulness  is  the  ability  to  meet  the 
world  at  every  turn  in  the  consciousness  of  power 
to  master  it,  and  to  meet  men  with  that  good 
cheer  which  disarms  hostility  and  wins  friends. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Excitement  not  to  be  made  an  end  in  itself. — 

The  exhilaration  of  sport  may  be  carried  to  the  point 
of  excitement ;  and  then  this  excitement  may  be  made 
an  end  in  itself.     This  is  the  temptation  which  be- 


28  EXERCISE. 

sets  all  forms  of  recreation  and  amusement.  It  is 
the  fear  of  this  danger  that  has  led  many  good 
people  to  distrust  and  disparage  certain  of  the 
more  intense  forms  of  recreation.  Their  mis- 
take is  in  supposing  that  temptation  is  peculiar  to 
these  forms  of  amusement.  As  we  shall  see  before 
we  complete  our  study  of  ethics,  everything  brings 
temptation  with  it  ;  and  the  best  things  bring  the 
severest  and  subtlest  temptations  ;  and  if  we  would 
withdraw  from  temptation,  we  should  have  to  with- 
draw from  the  world. 

We  must  all  recognize  that  this  temptation  to 
seek  excitement  for  its  own  sake  is  a  serious  one.  It 
is  least  in  the  natural  outdoor  sports  like  swimming 
and  sailing  and  hunting  and  fishing  and  climbing  and 
riding.  Hence  we  should  give  to  these  forms  of  re- 
creation as  large  a  place  as  possible  in  our  plans  for 
exercise  and  amusement.  We  should  see  clearly  that 
the  artificial  indoor  amusements,  such  as  dancing, 
card-playing,  theater-going,  billiard-playing,  are 
especially  liable  to  give  rise  to  that  craving  for 
excitement  for  excitement's  sake  which  perverts 
recreation  from  its  true  function  as  a  renewer  of 
our  powers  into  a  ruinous  drain  upon  them.  The 
moment  any  form  of  recreation  becomes  indispensa- 
able  to  us,  the  moment  we  find  that  it  diminishes 
instead  of  heightening  our  interest  and  delight  in 
the  regular  duties  of  our  daily  lives,  that  instant  we 
should  check  its  encroachment  upon  our  time  and, 
if  need  be,  cut  it  off  altogether.  It  is  impossible 
to  lay  down   hard  and  fast  rules,  telling  precisely 


THE   VICE   OF  DEFECT,  29 

what  forms  of  amusement  are  good  and  what  are 
bad.  So  much  depends  on  the  attitude  of  the  in- 
dividual toward  them,  and  the  associations  which 
they  carry  with  them  in  different  localities,  that 
what  is  right  and  beneficial  for  one  person  in  one 
set  of  surroundings  would  be  wrong  and  disastrous 
to  another  person  or  to  the  same  person  in  other 
circumstances.  To  enable  us  to  see  clearly  the  im- 
portant part  recreation  must  play  in  every  healthy 
life,  and  to  see  with  equal  clearness  the  danger  of 
giving  way  to  a  craving  for  constant  and  unnatural 
excitement,  is  the  most  that  ethics  can  do  for  us. 
The  application  of  these  principles  to  concrete 
cases  each  parent  must  make  for  his  own  children, 
and  each  individual  for  himself. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

Neglect  of  exercise  and  recreation  leads  to 
moroseness. — Like  milk  which  is  allowed  to  stand, 
the  spirit  of  man  or  woman,  if  left  unoccupied,  turns 
sour.  One  secret  of  sourness  and  moroseness  is  the 
sense  that  some  side  of  our  nature  has  been  re- 
pressed; and  this  inward  indignation  at  our  own 
wrongs  we  vent  on  others  in  bitterness  and  complain- 
ings. Moroseness  is  first  a]sign  that  we  ourselves  are 
miserable ;  and  secondly  it  is  the  occasion  of  mak- 
ing others  miserable  too.  Having  had  Spencer's  ac- 
count of  the  benefits  of  the  cheerfulness  that  comes 
from  adequate  recreation,  let  us  now  see  his  de- 
scription of  its  opposite.  "  Far  otherwise  is  it  with 
one  who  is  enfeebled  by  great  neglect  of  self.     Al« 


^O  EXERCISE. 

ready  deficient,  his  energies  are  made  more  deficient 
by  constant  endeavors  to  execute  tasks  that  prove 
beyond  his  strength,  and  by  the  resulting  discourage- 
ment. Hours  of  leisure,  which,  rightly  passed,  bring 
pleasures  that  raise  the  tide  of  life  and  renew  the 
powers  of  work,  cannot  be  utilized  :  there  is  not 
vigor  enough  for  enjoyments  involving  action,  and 
lack  of  spirits  prevents  passive  enjoyments  from  be- 
ing entered  upon  with  zest.  In  brief,  life  becomes 
a  burden.  The  irritability  resulting  now  from  ail- 
ments, now  from  failures  caused  from  feebleness,  his 
family  has  daily  to  bear.  Lacking  adequate  energy 
for  joining  in  them,  he  has  at  best  but  a  tepid  in- 
terest in  the  amusements  of  his  children ;  and  he  is 
called  a  wet  blanket  by  his  friends." 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Perpetual  amusement-seeking  brings  ennui, 
satiety,  and  disgust.— "  All  play  and  no  work 
makes  Jack  a  mere  toy,"  is  as  true  as  that  "  All 
work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy."  The 
constant  pursuit  of  amusement  makes  life  empty 
and  frivolous.  Rightly  used  recreation  increases 
one's  powers  for  serious  pursuits.  Pursued  wrongly, 
pursued  as  the  main  concern  of  life,  amusement 
makes  all  serious  work  seem  stale  and  dull ;  and 
finally  makes  amusement  itself  dull  and  stale  too. 
Ennui,  loathing,  disgust,  and  emptiness  are  the  marks 
of  the  amusement-seeker  the  world  over.  "  Vanity 
of  vanities,  all  is  vanity.  All  things  are  full  of 
weariness.     The  eye  is  not  satisfied  with  seeing  nor 


2^ HE  PENALTY.  3 1 

the  ear  filled  with  hearing" — this  is  the  experience 
of  the  man  who  '*  withheld  not  his  heart  from  any 
joy."  It  is  the  experience  of  everyone  who  exalts 
amusement  from  the  position  of  an  occasional 
servant  to  that  of  abiding  master  of  his  life. 

THE  PENALTY. 

The  penalty  of  neglected  exercise  is  con- 
firmed debility. — "Whosoever  hath  not,  from  him 
shall  be  taken  away  even  that  which  he  hath." 
Enfeebled  from  lack  of  exercise  a  man  finds  himself 
unequal  to  the  demands  of  his  work  ;  and  soured  by 
his  consequent  dissatisfaction  with  himself,  he  be- 
comes alienated  from  his  fellows.  The  tide  of  life 
becomes  low  and  feeble  ;  and  he  can  neither  over- 
come obstacles  in  his  own  strength  nor  attract  to 
himself  the  help  of  others. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Food,  clothes,  shelter,  and  all  the  necessities  of 
life  are  the  products  of  labor.  Even  the  simplest 
food,  such  as  fruit  and  berries,  must  be  picked  be- 
fore it  can  be  eaten  :  the  coarsest  garment  of  skins 
must  be  stripped  from  the  animal  before  it  can  be 
worn  :  the  rudest  shelter  of  rock  or  cave  must  be 
seized  and  defended  against  intruders  before  it  can 
become  one's  own.  And  as  civilization  advances,  the 
element  of  labor  involved  in  the  production  of 
goods  steadily  increases.  The  universal  necessity 
of  human  labor  to  convert  the  raw  materials  given 
us  by  nature  into  articles  serviceable  to  life  and 
enjoyment  renders  work  a  fundamental  branch  of 
human  conduct.  Regular  meals,  comfortable 
homes,  knowledge,  civilization,  all  are  the  fruits  of 
work.  And  unless  we  contribute  our  part  to  the 
production  of  these  goods,  we  have  no  moral  right 
to  be  partakers  of  the  fruits.  ''  If  any  will  not 
work,  neither  let  him  eat."  "All  work,"  says 
Thomas  Carlyle,  ''is  noble:  work  alone  is  noble. 
Blessed  is  he  that  has  found  his  work  ;  let  him  ask 
no  other  blessedness.  Two  men  I  honor,  and  no 
third.      First,   the   toilworn    craftsman   who    with 


THE   DUTY.  33 

earth-made  implement  laboriously  conquers  the 
Earth,  and  makes  her  man's.  A  second  man  I 
honor,  and  still  more  highly:  him  who  is  seen  toil- 
ing for  the  spiritually  indispensable ;  not  daily  bread, 
but  the  bread  of  life.  These  two  in  all  their  de- 
grees I  honor ;  all  else  is  chaff  and  dust,  which  let 
the  wind  blow  whither  it  listeth.  We  must  all  toil, 
or  steal  (howsoever  we  name  our  stealing),  which  is 
worse." 

THE  DUTY. 

Every  man  lives  either  upon  the  fruit  of  his 
own  work,  or  upon  the  fruit  of  the  work  of 
others. — In  childhood  it  is  right  for  us  to  live  upon 
the  fruits  of  the  toil  of  our  parents  and  friends. 
But  to  continue  this  life  of  dependence  on  the  work 
of  others  after  one  has  become  an  able-bodied  man 
or  woman  is  to  live  the  life  of  a  perpetual  baby. 
No  life  so  little  justifies  itself  as  that  of  the  idle  rich. 
The  idle  poor  man  suffers  the  penalty  of  idleness 
in  his  own  person.  He  gives  little  to  the  world  ; 
and  he  gets  little  in  return.  The  idle  rich  man 
gives  nothing,  and  gets  much  in  return.  And  while 
he  lives,  someone  has  to  work  the  harder  for  his 
being  in  the  world  ;  and  when  he  dies  the  world  is 
left  poorer  than  it  would  have  been  had  he  never 
been  born.  He  has  simply  consumed  a  portion  of 
the  savings  of  his  ancestors,  and  balanced  the 
energy  and  honor  of  their  lives  by  his  own  life  of 
worthlessness  and  shame.  Inherited  wealth  should 
bring  with  it  a  life  of  greater  responsibility  and  harder 


34  WORK. 

toil ;  for  the  rich  man  is  morally  bound  to  use  his 
wealth  for  the  common  good.  And  that  is  a  much 
harder  task  than  merely  to  earn  one's  own  living. 
An  able-bodied  man  who  does  not  contribute  to  the 
world  at  least  as  much  as  he  takes  out  of  it  is  a 
beggar  and  a  thief ;  whether  he  shirks  the  duty  of 
work  under  the  pretext  of  poverty  or  riches. 

Every  boy  and  girl  should  be  taught  some 
trade,  business,  art,  or  profession. — To  neglect 
this  duty  is  to  run  the  risk  of  enforced  dependence 
upon  others,  than  which  nothing  can  be  more  de- 
structive of  integrity  and  self-respect.  The  in- 
creasing avenues  open  to  women,  and  the  fact 
that  a  woman  is  liable  at  any  time  to  have  herself 
and  her  children  to  support,  make  it  as  important 
for  women  as  for  men  to  have  the  ability  to  earn  an 
honest  living. 

Woman's  sphere  is  chiefly  in  the  home  and 
the  social  circle. — Provided  she  is  able  to  earn  her 
living  whenever  it  becomes  necessary,  and  in  case  her 
parents  are  able  and  willing  to  support  her,  a  young 
woman  is  justified  in  remaining  in  the  home  until  her 
marriage.  Her  assistance  to  her  mother  in  the  domes- 
tic and  social  duties  of  the  home,  and  her  prepara- 
tion for  similar  duties  in  her  own  future  home,  is  often 
the  most  valuable  service  she  can  render  during  the 
years  between  school  and  marriage.  In  order,  how- 
ever, for  such  a  life  to  be  morally  justified  she  must 
realize  that  it  is  her  duty  to  do  all  in  her  power  to 
help  her  mother  ;  to  make  home  more  pleasant ;  and 
to  take  part  in  those   forms   of  social  and  philan- 


THE    VIRTUE.  35 

thropic  work  which  only  those  who  have  leisure  can 
undertake. 

The  son  or  daughter  who  is  to  inherit  wealth, 
should  be  trained  in  some  line  of  political,  scientific, 
artistic,  charitable,  or  philanthropic  work,  whereby 
he  may  use  his  wealth  and  leisure  in  the  service  of 
the  public,  and  justify  his  existence  by  rendering  to 
society  some  equivalent  for  that  security  and  enjoy- 
ment of  wealth  which  society  permits  him  to  pos- 
sess without  the  trouble  of  earning  it. 

All  honest  work,  manual,  mental,  social,  domestic, 
political  and  philanthropic,  scientific  and  literary,  is 
honorable.  Any  form  of  life  without  hard  work  of 
either  hand  or  brain  is  shameful  and  disgraceful.  The 
idler  is  of  necessity  a  debtor  to  society  ;  though 
there  are  forms  of  idleness  to  which,  for  reasons  of 
its  own,  society  never  presents  its  bill. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Industry  conquers  the  world.— Industry  is  a 
virtue,  because  it  asserts  this  fundamental  interest  of 
self-support  in  opposition  to  the  solicitations  of  idle- 
ness and  ease.  Industry  masters  the  world,  and 
makes  it  man's  servant  and  slave.  The  industrious 
man  too  is  master  of  his  own  feelings  ;  and  compels 
the  weaker  and  baser  impulses  of  his  nature  to  stand 
back  and  give  the  higher  interests  room.  The  in- 
dustrious man  will  do  thorough  work,  and  produce  a 
good  article,  cost  what  it  may.  He  will  not  suffer 
his  arm  to  rest  until  it  has  done  his  bidding  ;  nor 
will  he  let  nature  go  until  her  resources  and  forces 


3<5  WORIC. 

have  been  made  to  serve  his  purpose.  This  mastery 
over  ourselves  and  over  nature  is  the  mark  of  virtue 
and  manliness  always  and  everywhere. 

THE  REWARD. 

Industry  works;  and  the  fruit  of  work  is 
wealth,— The  industrious  man  may  or  may  not  have 
great  riches.  That  depends  on  his  talents,  oppor- 
tunities, and  character.  Great  riches  are  neither  to 
be  sought  nor  shunned.  With  them  or  without  them 
the  highest  life  is  possible  ;  and  on  the  whole  it  is 
easier  without  than  with  great  riches.  A  moderate 
amount  of  wealth,  hov/ever,  is  essential  to  the  fullest 
development  of  one's  powers  and  the  freest  enjoy- 
ment of  life.  Of  such  a  moderate  competence  the 
industrious  man  is  assured. 

THE    TEMPTATION. 

Soft  places  and  easy  kinds  of  work  to  be 
avoided. — Work  costs  pain  and  effort.  Men  natu- 
rally love  ease.  Hence  arises  the  temptation  to  put 
ease  above  self-support.  This  temptation  in  its 
extreme  form,  if  yielded  to,  makes  a  man  a  beggar 
and  a  tramp.  More  frequently  the  temptation  is  to 
take  an  easy  kind  of  work,  rather  than  harder  work ; 
or  to  do  our  work  shiftlessly  rather  than  thoroughly. 

Young  men  are  tempted  to  take  clerkships  where 
they  can  dress  well  and  do  light  work,  instead  of 
learning  a  trade  which  requires  a  long  apprenticeship, 
and  calls  for  rough,  hard  work.  The  result  is  that 
the  clerk  remains  a  clerk  all  his  life  on  low  wages, 


THE    VICE   OF  DEFECT.  37 

and  open  to  the  competition  of  everybody  who  can 
read  and  write  and  cipher.  While  the  man  who  has 
taken  time  to  learn  a  trade,  and  has  taken  off  his 
coat  and  accustomed  himself  to  good  hard  work, 
has  an  assured  livelihood  ;  and  only  the  few  who 
have  taken  the  same  time  to  learn  the  trade,  and  are 
as  little  afraid  of  hard  work  as  himself,  can  compete 
with  him.  This  temptation  to  seek  a  ''  soft  berth," 
where  the  only  work  required  is  sitting  in  an  ofifice, 
or  talking,  or  writing,  or  riding  around,  is  the  form 
of  sloth  which  is  taking  the  strength  and  independ- 
ence and  manliness  out  of  young  men  to-day  faster 
than  anything  else.  It  is  only  one  degree  above  the 
loafer  and  the  tramp.  The  young  man  who  starts  in 
life  by  seeking  an  easy  place  will  never  be  a  success 
cither  in  business  or  in  character. 

THE   VICE   OF    DEFECT. 

The  slavery  of  laziness. — Laziness  is  a  vice  be- 
cause it  sacrifices  the  permanent  interest  of  self- 
support  to  the  temporary  inclination  to  indo- 
lence and  ease.  The  lazy  man  is  the  slave  of  his  own 
feelings.  His  body  is  his  master  ;  not  his  servant. 
He  is  the  slave  of  circumstances.  What  he  does  de- 
pends not  on  what  he  knows  it  is  best  to  do,  but  on  how 
he  happens  to  feel.  If  the  work  is  hard  ;  if  it  is  cold 
or  rainy  ;  if  something  breaks  ;  or  things  do  not  go 
to  suit  him,  he  gives  up  and  leaves  the  work  undone. 
He  is  always  waiting  for  something  to  turn  up  ;  and 
since  nothing  turns  up  for  our  benefit  except  what 
we  turn  up  ourselves,  he  never  finds  the  opportunity 


38  WORK. 

that  suits  him  ;  he  fails  in  whatever  he  undertakes: 
and  accomplishes  nothing.  Laziness  is  weakness, 
submission,  defeat,  slavery  to  feeling  and  circum- 
stance ;  and  these  are  the  universal  characteristics 
of  vice. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

The  folly  of  overwork. — Work  has  for  its  end 

self-support.  Work  wisely  directed  makes  leisure 
possible.  Overwork  is  work  for  its  own  sake  ;  work 
for  false  and  unreal  ends ;  work  that  exhausts  the 
physical  powers.  Overwork  makes  a  man  a  slave 
to  his  work,  as  laziness  makes  him  a  slave  to  his 
ease.  The  man  who  makes  haste  to  be  rich ; 
who  works  from  morning  until  night  ''on  the 
clean  jump " ;  who  drives  his  business  with  the 
fierce  determination  to  get  ahead  of  his  competi- 
tors at  all  hazards,  misses  the  quiet  joys  of  life 
to  which  the  wealth  he  pursues  in  such  hot  haste  is 
merely  the  means,  breaks  down  in  early  or  middle 
life,  and  destroys  the  physical  basis  on  which  both 
work  and  enjoyment  depend.  To  undertake  more 
than  we  can  do  without  excessive  wear  and  tear 
and  without  permanent  injury  to  health  and 
strength  is  wrong.  Laziness  is  the  more  ig- 
noble vice ;  but  the  folly  of  overwork  is  equally 
apparent,  and  its  results  are  equally  disastrous. 
Laziness  is  a  rot  that  consumes  the  base  ele- 
ments of  society.  Overwork  is  a  tempest  that 
strikes  down  the  bravest  and  best.  That  work  alone 
is  wrought  in  virtue   which  keeps    the    powers  up 


THE  PENALTY.  39 

to  their  normal  and  healthful  activity,  and  is  subordi- 
nated to  the  end  of  self-support  and  harmonious 
self-development.  The  ideal  attitude  toward  work 
is  beautifully  presented  in  Matthew  Arnold's  sonnet 
on  *'  Quiet  Work  "  : 

One  lesson,  Nature,  let  me  learn  of  thee, 
One  lesson  which  in  every  wind  is  blown  ; 
One  lesson  of  two  duties  kept  at  one 
Though  the  loud  world  proclaim  their  enmity — 

Of  toil  unsevered  from  tranquillity  ; 
Of  labor,  that  in  lasting  fruit  outgrows 
Far  noisier  schemes,  accomplished  in  repose, 
Too  great  for  haste,  too  high  for  rivalry. 

THE    PENALTY. 

Laziness  leads  to  poverty. — The  lazy  man  does 
nothing  to  produce  wealth.  The  only  way  in  which 
he  can  get  it  is  by  inheritance,  or  by  gift,  or  by  theft. 
Money  received  by  inheritance  does  not  last  long. 
The  man  who  is  too  lazy  to  earn  money,  is  gen- 
erally too  weak  to  use  it  wisely  ;  and  it  soon  slips 
through  his  fingers.  When  a  man's  laziness  is  once 
found  out  people  refuse  to  give  to  him.  And  the 
thief  cannot  steal  many  times  without  being  caught. 
Industry  is  the  only  sure  and  permanent  title  to 
wealth  ;  and  where  industry  is  wanting,  there,  soon 
or  late,  poverty  must  come. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  products  of  labor,  saved  up  and  appro- 
priated to  our  use,  constitute  property.  Without 
property  life  cannot  rise  above  the  hand-to-mouth 
existence  of  the  savage.  It  is  as  important  to  save 
and  care  for  property  after  we  have  earned  it,  as  it  is 
to  earn  it  in  the  first  place.  Property  does  not  stay 
with  us  unless  we  watch  it  sharply.  Left  to  itself 
it  takes  wings  and  flies  away.  Unused  land  is  over- 
grown by  weeds ;  unoccupied  houses  crumble  and 
decay;  food  left  exposed  sours  and  molds;  un- 
used tools  rust  ;  and  machinery  left  to  stand 
idle  gets  out  of  order.  Everything  goes  to  rack 
and  ruin,  unless  we  take  constant  care.  Hence  the 
preservation  of  property  is  one  of  the  fundamental 
concerns  of  life  and  conduct. 

THE   DUTY. 

Provision  for  family  and  for  old  age. — Childhood 
and  old  age  ought  to  be  free  from  the  necessity  of 
earning  a  living.  Childhood  should  be  devoted  to 
growth  and  education  ;  old  age  to  enjoyment  and 
repose.  In  order  to  secure  this  provision  for  old  age, 
for  the  proper  training  of  children  and  against  sick- 
ness and  accident,   it   is  a  duty   to  save  a   portion 

40 


THE    VIRTUE,  4* 

of  one's  earnings  during  the  early  years  of  active 
life.  The  man  who  at  this  period  is  not  doing  more 
than  to  support  himself  and  family,  is  not  providing 
for  their  permanent  support  at  all.  They  are  feast- 
ing to-day  with  the  risk  of  starvation  to-morrow. 

In  primitive  conditions  of  society  this  provision 
for  the  future  consisted  in  the  common  ownership 
by  family  or  clan  of  flocks  and  herds  or  lands, 
whereby  the  necessities  of  life  were  insured  to  each 
member  of  the  clan  or  family  from  birth  to  death. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

The  importance  of  systematic  saving. — In  the 

more  complex  civilization  of  to-day,  property 
assumes  ten  thousand  different  forms  ;  is  held 
mostly  by  individuals ;  and  has  for  its  universal 
symbol,  money.  Hence  the  practical  duty  is  to  lay 
aside  a  certain  sum  of  money  out  of  our  regular 
earnings  each  month  or  week  during  the  entire 
period  of  our  working  life,  or  from  sixteen  to  sixty. 
Persons  who  acquire  a  liberal  education,  or  learn  a 
difficult  trade  or  profession,  will  not  be  able  to 
begin  to  save  until  they  are  twenty  or  twenty-five. 
Whenever  earning  begins,  saving  should  begin. 
If  earnings  are  small,  savings  must  be  small  too. 
He  who  postpones  saving  until  earnings  are  large 
and  saving  is  easy,  will  postpone  saving  alto- 
gether. The  habit  of  saving  like  all  habits  must  be 
formed  early  and  by  conscious  and  painful  effort, 
or  it  will  not  be  formed  at  all.  Saving  is  as  much  a 
duty  as  earning  ;  and  the  two  should  begin  together. 


4?  PROPERTY. 

Earning  provides  for  the  wants  of  the  individual 
and  the  hour.  It  requires  both  earning  and  saving 
to  provide  for  the  needs  of  a  life-time  and  the  wel- 
fare of  a  family.  Savings-banks  and  building  and 
loan  associations  afford  the  best  opportunities  for 
small  savings  at  regular  intervals  ;  and  no  man  has 
any  right  to  marry  until  he  has  a  savings-bank 
account,  or  shares  in  a  building  and  loan  associ- 
ation, or  an  equally  regular  and  secure  method  of 
systematic  saving.  In  early  life,  before  savings 
have  become  sufficient  to  provide  for  his  family  in 
case  of  death,  it  is  also  a  duty  to  combine  saving 
with  life-insurance.  Both  in  investment  of  savings 
and  in  life-insurance,  one  should  make  sure  that  the 
institution  or  organization  to  which  he  intrusts  his 
money  is  on  a  sound  business  basis.  All  specula- 
tive schemes  should  be  strictly  avoided.  Any 
company  or  form  of  investment  that  offers  to  give 
back  more  than  you  put  into  it,  plus  a  fair  rate  of 
interest  on  the  money,  is  not  a  fit  place  for  a  man 
to  trust  the  savings  on  which  the  future  of  himself 
and  his  family  depends.  Security,  absolute  security, 
not  profits  and  dividends,  is  what  one  should 
demand  of  the  institution  to  which  he  trusts  his 
savings. 

Economy  eats  the  apple  to  the  core ;  wears 
clothes  until  they  are  threadbare ;  makes  things 
over  ;  gets  the  entire  u'cility  out  of  a  thing  ;  throws 
nothing  away  that  can  be  used  again  ;  gets  its 
money's  worth  for  every  cent  expended ;  buys 
nothing   for   which  it    cannot  pay  cash    down  and 


THE  REWARD,  43 

leave  something  besides  for  saving.  It  is  a  manly 
quality,  or  virtue,  because  it  masters  things,  keeps 
them  under  our  control,  compels  them  to  render  all 
the  service  there  is  in  them,  and  insures  our  last- 
ing independence. 

THE  REWARD. 

The  savings  of  early  and  middle  life  support 
old  age  in  honorable  rest,  and  give  to  children 
a  fair  start  in  life. — All  men  are  liable  to  misfor- 
tune  and  accident.  The  improvident  man  is 
crushed  by  them  ;  for  they  find  him  without  re- 
served force  to  meet  them. 

The  economical  man  has  in  his  savings  a  balance 
wheel  whose  momentum  carries  him  by  hard  places. 
His  position  is  independent  and  his  prosperity  is 
permanent.  For  it  depends  not  on  the  fortunes  of 
the  day,  which  are  uncertain  and  variable  ;  but  on 
the  fixed  habits  and  principles  of  a  life-time,  which 
are  changeless  and  reliable. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Living   beyond    one's   income;     running    in 

debt. — Income  is  limited ;  while  the  things  we 
would  like  to  have  are  infinite.  We  must  draw  the 
line  somewhere.  Duty  says,  draw  it  well  inside  of 
income.  Temptation  says,  draw  it  at  income,  or  a 
trifle  outside  of  income.  Yield  to  this  temptation, 
and  our  earnings  are  gone  before  we  know  it,  and 
debt  stares  us  in  the  face.  Debts  are  easy  to  con- 
tract, but  hard  to  pay.     The  debt  must  be   paid 


44  PROPERTY, 

sometime  with  accumulated  interest.  And  when 
the  day  of  reckoning  comes  it  invariably  costs  more 
inconvenience  and  trouble  to  pay  it  than  it  would 
have  cost  to  have  gone  without  the  thing  for  the 
sake  of  which  we  ran  in  debt. 

Never,  on  any  account,  get  in  debt.  Never  spend 
your  whole  income.  These  are  rules  we  are  con- 
stantly tempted  to  break.  But  the  man  who  yields 
to  this  temptation  is  on  the  high  road  to  financial 
ruin. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

Wastefulness, — The  wasteful  man  buys  things 
he  does  not  need  ;  spends  his  money  as  fast  as  he 
can  get  it ;  lives  beyond  his  means;  throws  things 
away  which  are  capable  of  further  service  ;  runs  in 
debt  ;  and  is  forever  behindhand.  He  lives  from 
hand  to  mouth  ;  is  dependent  upon  his  neighbors 
for  things  which  with  a  little  economy  he  might 
own  himself;  makes  no  provision  for  the  future, 
and  when  sickness  or  old  age  comes  upon  him,  he  is 
without  resources. 

THE  VICE  OF_EXCESS. 

Miserliness. — Economy  saves  for  the  sake  of  fu- 
ture expenditure.  Miserliness  saves  for  the  sake  of 
saving.  The  spendthrift  sacrifices  the  future  to 
present  enjoyment.  The  miser  sacrifices  present 
enjoyment  to  an  imaginary  future  which  never 
comes  ;  and  so  m^isses  enjoyment  altogether.  The 
prudent  man  harmonizes  present  with  future  enjoy- 
ment, and  so  lives   a   life   of  constant   enjoyment. 


THE  PENALTY.  45 

The  spendthrift  spends  recklessly,  regardless  of  con- 
sequences. The  miser  hoards  anxiously,  despising 
the  present.  The  man  of  prudence  and  economy 
spends  liberally  for  present  needs,  and  saves  only 
as  a  means  to  more  judicious  and  lasting  expendi- 
ture. The  miser  is  as  much  the  slave  of  his  money 
as  is  the  spendthrift  the  slave  of  his  indulgences. 
Economy  escapes  both  forms  of  slavery  and  main- 
tains its  freedom  by  making  both  spending  and 
saving  tributary  to  the  true  interests  of  the  self. 

THE  PENALTY. 

The  thing  we  waste  to-day,  we  want  to-mor- 
row.— The  money  we  spend  foolishly  to-day  we  have 
to  borrow  to-morrow,  and  pay  with  interest  the  day 
after.  Wastefulness  destroys  the  seeds  of  which 
prosperity  is  the  fruit.  Wastefulness  throws  away 
the  pennies,  and  so  must  go  without  the  dollars 
which  the  pennies  make.  Years  of  health  and 
strength  spent  in  hand-to-mouth  indulgence  inevi- 
tably bear  fruit  in  a  comfortless  old  age. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

The  jack-of-all-trades  is  a  bungler  in  every  one 
of  them.  The  man  who  will  do  anything  well  must 
confine  himself  to  doing  a  very  few  things.  Yet 
while  the  things  a  man  can  produce  to  advantage 
are  few,  the  things  he  wants  to  consume  are  many. 
Exchange  makes  possible  at  the  same  time  concen- 
tration in  production  and  diversity  of  enjoyment. 
Exchange  enables  the  shoemaker  to  produce  shoes, 
the  tailor  to  make  coats,  the  carpenter  to  build  houses, 
the  farmer  to  raise  grain,  the  weaver  to  make  cloth, 
the  doctor  to  heal  disease ;  and  at  the  same  time 
brings  to  each  one  of  them  a  pair  of  shoes,  a  coat, 
a  house,  a  barrel  of  flour,  a  cut  of  cloth,  and  such 
medical  attendance  as  he  needs.  Civilization  rests 
on  exchange. 

THE  DUTY.  ■ 

It  IS  the  duty  of  each  party  in  a  trade  to  give 
a  fair  and  genuine  equivalent  for  what  he  ex- 
pects to  receive. — Articles  exchanged  always  rep- 
resent work.  And  it  is  our  duty  to  make  sure  that 
the  article  we  offer  represents  thorough  work. 
Good  honest  work  is  the  foundation  of  all  righteous- 
ness.    Whatever  we  offer  for  sale,  whether  it  be  our 

46 


THE    VIRTUE.  47 

labor  for  wages,  or  goods  for  a  price,  ought  to  be 
as  good  and  thorough  as  we  can  make  it.  To  sell  a 
day's  work  for  wages," and  then  to  loaf  apart  of  that 
day,  is  giving  a  man  idleness  when  he  pays  for  work. 
To  sell  a  man  a  shoddy  coat  when  he  thinks  he  is 
buying  good  wool,  is  giving  him  cold  when  he  pays 
for  warmth.  To  give  a  man  defective  plumbing  in 
his  house  when  he  hires  you  for  a  good"  workman, 
is  to  sell  him  disease  and  death,  and  take  pay  for  it. 
Selling  adulterated  drugs  and  groceries  is  giving  a 
man  a  stone  when  he  asks  for  and  pays  for  bread. 
If,  after  we  have  done  our  best  to  make  or  secure 
good  articles,  we  are  unable  to  avoid  defects  and 
imperfections,  then  it  is  our  duty  to  tell  squarely 
just  what  the  imperfection  is,  and  sell  it  for  a  re- 
duced price.  On  no  other  basis  than  this  of  mak- 
ing genuine  goods,  and  representing  them  just  as 
they  are,  can  exchange  fulfill  its  function  of  mutual 
advantage  to  all  concerned. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Honesty  looks  people  straight  in  the  eye, 
tells  the  plain  truth  about  its  goods,  stands  on 
its  merits,  asks  no  favors,  has  nothing  to  con- 
ceal, fears  no  investigation.— This  bold,  open,  self- 
reliant  quality  of  honesty  is  what  makes  it  a  manly 
thing,  or  a  virtue.  To  do  thorough  work ;  to  speak 
the  plain  truth  ;  to  do  exactly  as  you  would  be  done 
by;  to  put  another  man's  interest  on  a  level  with 
your  own  ;  to  take  under  no  pretext  or  excuse  a 
cent's  worth  more  than  you  give  in  any  trade  you 


48  EXCHANGE. 

make,  calls  out  all  the  strength  and  forbearance  and 
self-control'there  is  in  a  man,  and  that  is  why  it 
ranks  so  high  among  the  virtues. 

THE   REWARD. 

The  honest  man  is  the  only  man  who  can  re- 
spect himself. — He  carries  his  head  erect,  and  no 
man  can  put  him  down.  Everything  about  him  is 
sound  and  every  act  will  bear  examination.  This 
sense  of  one's  own  genuineness  and  worth  is 
honesty's   chief   reward, 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Every  one-sided    transaction  dishonest. — In 

fair  exchange  both  parties  are  benefited.  In  unfair 
exchange  one  party  profits  by  the  other's  loss.  Any 
transaction  in  which  either  party  fails  to  receive  an 
equivalent  for  what  he  gives  is  a  fraud  ;  and  the  man 
who  knowingly  and  willfully  makes  such  a  trade  is  a 
thief  in  disguise.  For  taking  something  which  be- 
longs to  another,  without  giving  him  a  return,  and 
without  his  full,  free,  and  intelligent  consent,  is 
stealing. 

The  temptation  to  take  advantage  of  another's 
ignorance ;  to  palm  off  a  poor  article  for  a  good  one ; 
to  get  more  than  we  give,  is  very  great  in  all  forms 
of  business.  Cheating  is  very  common,  and  one  is 
tempted  to  do  a  little  cheating  himself  in  order  to 
keep  even  with  the  rest.  The  only  way  to  resist  it 
is  to  see  clearly  that  cheating  is  lying  and  stealing 
put  together ;  that  it  is  un  injury  to  our  fellow-men 


THE  VICE   OF  DEFECT.  49 

and  to  society  ;  that  it  is  playing  the  part  of  a  knave 
and  a  rascal  instead  of  an  honest  and  honorable 
man. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

The  meanest  and  most  contemptible  kind  of 
cheating  is  quackery. — The  quack  is  liar,  thief,  and 
murderer  all  in  one.  For  in  undertaking  to  do 
things  for  which  he  has  no  adequate  training  and 
skill,  he  pretends  to  be  what  he  is  rK)t.  He  takes 
money  for  which  he  is  unable  to  render  a  genuine 
equivalent.  And  by  inducing  people  to  trust  their 
lives  in  his  incompetent  and  unskilled  hands  he 
turns  them  aside  from  securing  competent  treat- 
ment, and  so  confirms  disease  and  hastens  death. 

The  dishonest  man  a  public  nuisance  and  a 
common  enemy. — He  gets  his  living  out  of  other 
people.  Whatever  wealth  he  gets,  some  honest 
man  who  has  earned  it  is  compelled  to  go  without. 
Dishonesty  is  the  perversion  of  exchange  from  its 
noble  function  as  a  civilizing  agent  and  a  public 
benefit,  into  the  ignoble  service  of  making  one  man 
rich  at  the  expense  of  the  many.  It  is  because  the 
dishonest  man  is  living  at  other  people's  expense, 
profiting  by  their  losses,  and  fattening  himself  on 
the  earnings  of  those  whom  he  has  wronged,  that 
dishonesty  is  deservedly  ranked  as  one  of  the  most 
despicable  and  abominable  of  vices. 

THE  VICE    OF   EXCESS. 

It  is  as  important  to  protect  our  own  interest, 
as  to  regard  the  interests  of  others.— No  man 


50  EXCHANGE. 

has  any  more  right  to  cheat  me  than  I  have  to  cheat 
him  ;  and  if  he  tries  to  take  advantage  of  me  it  is 
my  duty  to  resist  him,  and  to  say  a  decided  ''  no  "  to 
his  schemes  for  enriching  himself  at  my  expense. 

One  rule  in  particular  is  very  important.  Never 
sign  a  note  for  another  in  order  to  give  him  a  credit 
which  he  could  not  command  without  your  name. 
That  is  a  favor  which  no  man  has  a  right  to  ask,  and 
which  no  man  who  regards  his  duty  to  himself  and  to 
his  family  will  grant.  If  a  man  is  in  a  tight  place  and 
asks  you  to  lend  him  money,  or  to  give  him  money, 
that  is  a  proposition  to  be  considered  on  its  merits. 
But  to  assume  an  indefinite  responsibility  by  sign- 
ing another  man's  note,  is  accepting  the  risk  of  ruin- 
ing  ourselves  for  his  accommodation.  We  owe  it 
to  ourselves  and  our  families  to  keep  our  finances  ab- 
solutely under  our  own  control,  free  from  all  com- 
plication with  the  risks  and  uncertainties  of  another's 
enterprises  and  fortunes. 

Our  own  rights  are  as  sacred  as  those  of  another. 
There  are  two  sides  to  every  bargain  ;  and  one  side 
is  as  important  as  the  other.  The  sacrifice  of  a 
right  may  be  as  great  an  evil  as  the  perpetration  of 
a  wrong. 

THE  PENALTY. 

Dishonesty  eats  the  heart  out  of  a  man.— The 

habit  of  looking  solely  to  one's  own  interest  deadens 
the  social  sympathies,  dwarfs  the  generous  affec- 
tions, weakens  self-respect,  until  at  length  the  dishon- 
est men  can  rob  the  widow  of  her  livelihood  ;  take 
an   exorbitant    commission    on    the   labor  of   the 


THE  PENALTY.  5^ 

orphan  ;  charge  an  extortionate  rent  to  a  family  of 
helpless  invalids ;  sell  worthless  stocks  to  an  aged 
couple  in  exchange  for  the  hard  earnings  of  a  life- 
time, and  still  endure  to  live.  Dishonesty  makes 
men  inhuman.  The  love  of  gain  is  a  species  of 
moral  and  spiritual  decay.  When  it  attacks  the 
heart  the  finer  and  better  feelings  wither  and  die  ; 
and  on  this  decay  of  sympathy  and  kindness  and 
generosity  and  justice  there  thrive  and  flourish 
meanness  and  heartlessness  and  cruelty  and  inhu- 
manity. 

Hereditary  effects  of  dishonesty.— So  deeply 
does  the  vice  of  dishonesty  eat  into  the  moral  nature 
that  mental  and  moral  deterioration  is  handed  down 
to  offspring.  The  scientific  study  of  heredity 
shows  that  the  deterioration  resulting  from  this 
cause  is  more  sure  and  fatal  than  that  following 
many  forms  of  insanity.  The  son  or  daughter  of  a 
mean,  dishonest  man  is  handicapped  with  tenden- 
cies toward  moral  turpitude  and  anti-social  conduct 
for  which  no  amount  of  his  ill-gotten  gains,  received 
by  inheritance,  can  be  an  adequate  compensation. 
Says  Maudsley,  "  I  cannot  but  think  that  the  ex- 
treme passion  for  getting  rich,  absorbing  the  whole 
energies  of  a  life,  predisposes  to  mental  de- 
generacy in  the  offspring,  either  to  moral  defect,  or 
to  intellectual  deficiency,  or  to  outbursts  of  positive 
insanity."  And  the  same  author  says  elsewhere: 
**  The  anti-social,  egoistic  development  of  the  indi- 
vidual predisposes  to,  if  it  does  not  predetermine, 
the   mental   degeneracy  of  his  progeny;   he,  alien 


52  EXCHANGE, 

from  his  kind  by  excessive  egoisms,  determines 
an  alienation  of  mind  in  them.  If  I  may  trust  in 
that  matter  my  observations,  I  know  no  one  who  is 
more  likely  to  breed  insanity  in  his  offspring  than 
the  intensely  narrow,  self-sensitive,  suspicious,  dis- 
trustful, deceitful,  and  self-deceiving  individual,  who 
never  comes  into  sincere  and  sound  relations  with 
men  and  things,  who  is  incapable  by  nature  and 
habit  of  genuinely  healthy  communion  with  himself 
or  with  his  kind.  A  moral  development  of  that 
sort,  I  believe,  is  more  likely  to  predetermine  in- 
sanity in  the  next  generation  than  are  many  forms 
of  actual  derangement  in  parents  :  for  the  whole 
moral  nature  is  essentially  infected,  and  that  goes 
deeper  down,  and  is  more  dangerous,  ^?^(^  heredity, 
than  a  particular  derangement.  A  mental  alienation 
is  a  natural  pathological  evolution  of  it." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

What  food  is  to  the  body,  that  knowledge  is  to 
the  mind.  It  is  the  bread  of  intellectual  life.  With- 
out knowledge  of  agriculture  and  the  mechanic  arts 
we  should  be  unable  to  provide  ourselves  with  food 
and  clothing  and  houses  and  ships  and  roads  and 
bridges.  Without  knowledge  of  natural  science  we 
should  be  strangers  in  the  world  in  which  we  live, 
the  victims  of  the  grossest  superstitions.  Without 
knowledge  of  history  and  political  science  we  could 
have  no  permanent  tranquility  and  peace,  but  should 
pass  a  precarious  existence,  exposed  to  war  and 
violence,  rapine  and  revolution.  Knowledge  un- 
locks for  us  the  mysteries  of  nature  ;  unfolds  for  us 
the  treasured  wisdom  of  the  world's  great  men  ;  in- 
terprets to  us  the  longings  and  aspirations  of  our 
hearts. 

Books,  we  know, 
Are  a  substantial  world,  both  pure  and  good  : 
Round  these  with  tendrils  strong  as  flesh  and  blood, 
Our  pastime  and  our  happiness  will  grow. 

THE  DUTY. 

The  severity  of  truth. — Things  exist  in  precise 
and  definite  relations.     Events  take  place  according 


54  KNOWLEDGE^ 

to  fixed  and  immutable  laws.  Truth  is  the  percep« 
tion  of  things  just  as  they  are.  Between  truth  and 
falsehood  there  is  no  middle  ground.  Either  a  fact 
is  so,  or  it  is  not.  "■  Truth,"  says  Ruskin,  ''  is  the  one 
virtue  of  which  there  are  no  degrees.  There  are  some 
faults  slight  in  the  sight  of  love,  some  errors  slight 
in  the  estimation  of  wisdom  ;  but  truth  forgives  no 
insult,  and  endures  no  stain."  Truth  does  not  al- 
ways lie  upon  the  surface  of  things.  It  requires 
hard,  patient  toil  to  dig  down  beneath  the  super- 
ficial crust  of  appearance  to  the  solid  rock  of  fact 
on  which  truth  rests.  To  discover  and  declare  truth 
as  it  is,  and  facts  as  they  are,  is  the  vocation  of  the 
scholar.  Not  what  he  likes  to  think,  not  what 
other  people  will  be  pleased  to  hear,  not  what  will 
be  popular  or  profitable  ;  but  what  as  the  result  of 
careful  investigation,  painstaking  inquiry,  prolonged 
reflection  he  has  learned  to  be  the  fact  ; — this, 
nothing  less  and  nothing  more,  the  scholar  must 
proclaim.  Truth  is  fidelity  to  fact  ;  it  plants  itself 
upon  reality ;  and  hence  it  speaks  with  authority. 
The  truthful  man'is  one  whom  we  can  depend  upon. 
His  word  is  as  good  as  his  bond.  ''  He  sweareth  to 
his  own  hurt,  and  changeth  not."  The  truthful 
man  brings  truth  and  man  together. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Veracity  has  two  foundations  :  one  reverence 
for  truth  ;  the  other  regard  for  one's  fellow-men. 

— Ordinarily  these  two  motives  coincide  and  re-en- 
force each  other.  The  right  of  truth  to  be  spoken,  and 


THE    VIRTUE.  5S 

the  benefit  to  men  from  hearing  it,  are  two  sides  of 
the  same  obligation.  Only  in  the  most  rare  and  ex- 
ceptional cases  can  these  two  motives  conflict.  To 
a  healthy,  right-minded  man  the  knowledge  of  the 
truth  is  always  a  good. 

Apparent  exceptions  to  the  duty  of  truthful- 
ness.— We  owe  truth  to  all  normal  people,  and 
under  all  normal  circumstances.  We  do  not  neces- 
sarily owe  it  to  the  abnormal.  In  sickness,  when 
the  patient  cannot  bear  the  shock  of  distressing 
news  ;  in  insanity,  when  the  maniac  cannot  give  to 
facts  their  right  interpretation  ;  in  criminal  perver- 
sity, when  knowledge  would  be  used  in  furtherance 
of  crime,  the  abnormal  condition  of  the  person 
with  whom  we  have  to  deal  may  justify  us  in  with- 
holding from  him  facts  which  he  would  use  to  the 
injury  of  himself  or  others.  These  are  very  rare  and 
extreme  cases,  and  are  apparent  rather  than  real 
exceptions  to  the  universal  rule  of  absolute  truth- 
fulness in  human  speech.  For  in  these  cases  it  is 
not  from  a  desire  to  deceive  or  mislead  the  person, 
that  we  withold  the  truth.  We  feel  sure  that  the 
sick  person,  when  he  recovers  ;  the  insane  person 
when  he  is  restored  to  reason;  the  criminal,  if  he  is 
ever  converted  to  uprightness,  will  appreciate  the 
kindness  of  our  motive,  and  thank  us  for  our  deed. 
To  the  person  of  sound  body,  sound  mind,  and 
sound  moral  intent,  no  conceivable  combination  of 
circumstances  can  ever  excuse  us  from  the  strict 
requirement  of  absolute  veracity,  or  make  a  lie 
anything  but  base,  cowardly,  and  contemptible. 


56  KNOWLEDGE. 

THE  REWARD. 

Society  is  founded  on  trust. — Without  confidence 
in  one  another,  we  could  not  live  in  social  relations 
a  single  day.  We  should  relapse  into  barbarism, 
strife,  and  mutual  destruction.  Since  society  rests 
on  confidence,  and  confidence  rests  on  tried  veracity, 
the  rewards  of  veracity  are  all  those  mutual  advan- 
tages which  a  civilized  society  confers  upon  its 
members. 

THE   TEMPTATION. 

The  costliness  of  strict  truthfulness.— Truth 

is  not  only  hard  to  discover,  but  frequently  it  is  costly 
to  speak.  Truth  is  often  opposed  to  sacred  tradi- 
tions, inherited  prejudices,  popular  beliefs,  and 
vested  interests.  To  proclaim  truth  in  the  face  of 
these  opponents  in  early  times  has  cost  many  a  man 
his  life  ;  and  to-day  it  often  exposes  one  to  calumny 
and  abuse.  Hence  comes  the  temptation  to  conceal 
our  real  opinions  ;  to  cover  up  what  we  know  to  be 
true  under  some  phrase  which  we  believe  will  be 
popular ;  to  sacrifice  our  convictions  to  what  we 
suppose  to  be  our  interests. 

Especially  when  we  have  done  wrong  the  temp- 
tation to  cover  it  up  with  a  lie  is  very  great. 
Deception  seems  so  easy;  it  promises  to  smooth 
over  our  difficulties  so  neatly;  that  it  is  one  of  the 
hardest  temptations  to  resist.     Little  do  we  dream, 

What  a  tangled  web  we  weave 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive. 


THE   VICE   OF  DEFECT.  57 


THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 


The  forms    of   falsehood  are    numberless. — 

We  may  lie  by  our  faces  ;  by  our  general  bearing; 
6y  our  silence,  as  well  as  by  our  lips.  There  is  *'  the 
glistening  and  softly  spoken  lie  ;  the  amiable  fallacy; 
the  patriotic  lie  of  the  historian  ;  the  provident  lie 
of  the  politician  ;  the  zealous  lie  of  the  partisan  ; 
the  merciful  lie  of  the  friend  ;  the  careless  lie  of  each 
man  to  himself."  The  mind  of  man  was  made  for 
truth:  truth  is  the  only  atmosphere  in  which  the 
mind  of  man  can  breathe  without  contamination. 
No  passing  benefit  which  I  can  secure  for  myself  or 
others  can  compensate  for  the  injury  which  a  false- 
hood inflicts  on  the  mind  of  him  who  tells  it  and  on 
the  mind  of  him  to  whom  it  is  told.  Forbenefits  and 
advantages,  however  great  and  important,  are  what 
we  have,  and  they  perish  with  the  using.  The  mind 
is  what  we  are  ;  and  an  insult  to  our  intelligence,  a 
scar  upon  ourselves,  a  blow  at  that  human  confidence 
which  binds  us  all  together,  is  irremediable. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

The  mischievousness  of  gossip  and  scandal. — 

We  are  nol^  called  upon  to  know  everything  that  is 
going  on  ;  nor  to  tell  everything  that  we  cannot  help 
knowing.  Idle  curiosity  and  mischievous  gossip  re- 
sult from  the  direction  of  our  thirst  for  knowledge 
toward  trifling  and  unworthy  objects.  There  is 
great  virtue  in  minding  one's  own  business.  The 
tell-tale  is  abhorrent  even  to  the  least  developed 


58  KNOWLEDGE. 

moral  sensibility.  The  gossip,  the  busybody,  the 
scandalmonger  is  the  worst  pest  that  invests  the 
average  town  and  village.  These  mischief-makers 
take  a  grain  of  circumstantial  evidence,  mix  with  it  a 
bushel  of  fancies,  suspicions,  surmises,  and  inuendoes, 
and  then  go  from  house  to  house  peddling  the  pro- 
duct for  undoubted  fact.  The  scandalmonger  is  the 
murderer  of  reputations,  the  destroyer  of  domestic 
peace,  the  insuperable  obstacle  to  the  mutual  friend- 
liness of  neighborhoods.  This  "  rejoicing  in  in- 
iquity "  is  the  besetting  sin  of  idle  people.  The 
man  or  woman  who  delights  in  this  gratuitous  and 
uncalled-for  criticism  of  neighbors  thereby  puts  him- 
self below  the  moral  level  of  the  ones  whose  faults 
he  criticises.  Martineau,  in  his  scale  of  the  springs  of 
action,  rightly  ranks  censoriousness,  with  vindictive- 
ness  and  suspiciousness,  at  the  very  bottom  of  the 
list.  Unless  there  is  some  positive  good  to  be  gained 
by  bringing  wrong  to  light  and  offenders  to  justice 
we  should  know  as  little  as  possible  of  the  faih'ngs 
of  our  fellow-men,  and  keep  that  little  strictly  to 
ourselves. 

THE    PENALTY. 

Falsehood  undermines  the  foundations  of  so- 
cial order. — Universal  falsehood  would  bring  social 
chaos.  The  liar  takes  advantage  of  the  opportunity 
which  his  position  as  a  member  of  society  gives  him 
to  strike  a  deadly  blow  at  the  heart  of  the  social  order 
on  which  he  depends  for  his  existence,  and  without 
whose  aid  his  arm  would  be  powerless  to  strike. 


THE  PENALTY.  59 

The  liar  likewise  loses  confidence  in  himself.— 

He  cannot  distinguish  truth  from  falsehood,  he  has 
so  frequently  confounded  them.  He  is  caught  in  his 
own  meshes.  A  good  liar  must  have  a  long  memory. 
Having  no  recognized  standard  to  go  by,  he  cannot 
remember  whether  he  said  one  thing  or  another  about 
a  given  fact  ;  and  so  he  hangs  himself  by  the  rope  of 
his  own  contradictions.  Worse  than  these  outward 
consequences  is  the  loss  of  confidence  in  his  own 
integrity  and  manhood.  In  Kant's  words,  *'  A  lie  is 
the  abandonment,  or,  as  it  were,  the  annihilation  of 
the  dignity  of  man." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Utme, 

Every  act  we  do,  every  thought  we  think,  every 
feeling  we  cherish  exists  in  time.  Our  life  is  a  suc- 
cession of  flying  moments.  Once  gone,  they  can 
never  be  recalled.  As  they  are  employed,  so  our 
character  becomes.  To  use  time  wisely  is  a  good 
part  of  the  art  of  living  well,  for  **  time  is  the  stuff 
life  is  made  of." 

THE   DUTY. 

The  duty  of  making  life  a  consistent  whole. — 

Life  is  not  merely  a  succession  of  separate  mo- 
ments. It  is  an  organic  whole.  The  way  in  which 
we  spend  one  moment  affects  the  next,  and  all  that 
follow;  just  as  the  condition  of  one  part  of  the 
body  affects  the  well-being  of  all  the  rest.  As  we 
have  seen,  dissipation  to-day  means  disease  to-mor- 
row. Work  to-day  means  property  to-morrow. 
Wastefulness  to-day  means  want  to-morrow.  Hence 
it  should  be  our  aim  so  to  co-ordinate  one  period  of 
time  with  another  that  our  action  will  promote  not 
merely  the  immediate  interests  of  the  passing  mo- 
ment, but  the  interests  of  the  permanent  self  through- 
out the  whole  of  life.  What  we  pursue  on  one  day 
must  not  clash  with  what  we  pursue  the  next ;  each 

60 


THE    VIRTUE,  6l 

must  contribute  its  part  to  our  comprehensive  and 
permanent  well-being. 

THE   VIRTUE 

Prudence  is  the  habit  of  looking  ahead,  and 
seeing  present  conduct  in  its  relation  to  future 
welfare. — Prudence  is  manly  and  virtuous  because  it 
controls  present  inclination,  instead  of  being  con- 
trolled by  it.  A  burning  appetite  or  passion  springs 
up  within  us,  and  demands  instant  obedience  to  its 
demands.  The  weak  man  yields  at  once  and  lets 
the  appetite  or  passion  or  inclination  lead  him 
whithersoever  it  listeth.  Not  so  the  strong,  the 
prudent  man.  He  says  to  the  hot,  impetuous  pas- 
sion: *' Sit  down,  and  be  quiet.  I  will  consider 
your  request.  If  it  seems  best  I  will  do  as  you 
wish.  If  it  turns  out  that  what  you  ask  is  not  for 
my  interest  I  shall  not  do  it.  You  need  not  think 
that  I  am  going  to  do  everything  you  ask  me  to, 
whether  it  is  for  my  interest  to  do  it  or  not.  You 
have  fooled  me  a  good  many  times,  and  hereafter  I 
propose  to  look  into  the  merits  of  your  requests 
before  I  grant  them."  It  takes  strength  and  cour- 
age and  determination  to  treat  the  impulses  of  our 
nature  in  this  haughty  and  imperious  manner.  But 
the  strength  and  resolution  which  it  takes  to  do  an 
act  is  the  very  essence  of  its  manliness  and  virtue. 

THE  REWARD. 

The  life  of  the  prudent  man  holds  together, 
part  plays  into  part,  and  the  whole  runs 
smoothly. — One  period  of  life,  one  fraction  of  time, 


62  TIME, 

does  not  conflict  with  another.  He  looks  on  the 
past  with  satisfaction  because  he  is  enjoying  the 
fruit  of  that  past  in  present  well-being.  He  looks 
to  the  future  with  confidence  because  the  present 
contains  the  seeds  of  future  well-being.  Each  step 
in  life  is  adjusted  to  every  other,  and  the  result  is  a 
happy  and  harmonious  whole. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Time  tempts  us  to  break  up  our  lives  into 
separate  parts.—"  Let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to- 
morrow we  die,"  ''  After  us  the  deluge."  These  are 
the  maxims  of  fools.  The  reckless  seizure  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  present  hour,  regardless  of  the  days 
and  years  to  come,  is  the  characteristic  mark  of 
folly. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

"Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time." — The 

particular  impulse  which  most  frequently  leads  us  to 
put  off  the  duty  of  the  hour  is  indolence.  But  any 
appetite  or  passion  which  induces  us  to  postpone  a 
recognized  duty  for  the  sake  of  a  present  delight  is 
an  invitation  to  procrastination. 

The  fallacy  of  procrastination,  the  trick  by  which 
it  deceives,  is  in  making  one  believe  that  at  a  differ- 
ent time  he  will  be  a  different  person.  The  pro- 
crastinator  admits,  for  instance,  that  a  piece  of  work 
must  be  done.  But  he  argues,  "  Just  now  I  would 
rather  play  or  loaf  than  do  the  work.  By  and  by 
there  will  come  a  time  when  I  shall  rather  do  the 
work  than  play  or  loaf.     Let's  wait  till  that  time 


THE   VICE   OF  EXCESS.  63 

comes."  That  time  never  comes.  Our  likes  and 
dislikes  do  not  change  from  one  day  to  another. 
To-morrow  finds  us  as  lazy  as  to-day,  and  with  the 
habit  of  procrastination  strengthened  by  the  indul- 
gence of  yesterday.  Putting  a  duty  off  once  does 
not  make  it  easier:  it  makes  it  harder  to  do  the 
next  time. 

Play  or  rest  when  we  ought  to  be  at  work  is 
weakening  and  demoralizing.  Rest  and  play  after 
work  is  bracing  and  invigorating.  The  sooner  we 
face  and  conquer  a  difficulty,  the  less  of  a  difficulty 
it  is.  The  longer  we  put  it  off  the  greater  it  seems, 
and  the  less  becomes  our  strength  with  which  to 
overcome  it. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Anxiety  defeats  itself. — Anxiety  sacrifices  the 
present  to  the  future.  When  this  becomes  a  habit 
it  defeats  its  own  end.  For  the  future  is  nothing 
but  a  succession  of  moments,  which,  when  they  are 
realized,  are  present  moments.  And  the  man  who 
sacrifices  all  the  present  moments  to  his  conception 
of  a  future,  sacrifices  the  very  substance  out  of 
which  the  real  future  is  composed.  For  when  he 
reaches  the  time  to  which  he  has  been  looking  for- 
ward, and  for  the  sake  of  which  he  has  sacrificed  all 
his  early  days,  the  habit  of  anxiety  stays  by  him 
and  compels  him  to  sacrifice  that  future,  now  be- 
come present,  to  another  future,  still  farther  ahead  ; 
and  so  on  forever.  Thus  life  becomes  an  endless 
round  of  fret  and  worry,  full  of  imaginary  ills,  des- 


64  TIME. 

titute  of  all  real  and  present  satisfaction.  It  is  a 
good  rule  never  to  cross  a  bridge  until  we  come  to 
it.  Prudence  demands  that  we  make  reasonable 
preparation  for  crossing  it  in  advance.  But  when 
these  preparations  are  made  prudence  has  done  its 
work,  and  waits  calmly  until  the  time  comes  to  put 
its  plans  into  operation.  Anxiety  fills  all  the  inter- 
vening time  with  forebodings  of  all  the  possible 
obstacles  that  may  arise  when  the  time  for  action 
comes. 

Procrastination,  anxiety,  and  prudence.— Pro- 
crastination sacrifices  the  future  to  the  present. 
Anxiety  sacrifices  the  present  to  the  future. 
Prudence  co-ordinates  present  and  future  in  a  con- 
sistent whole,  in  which  both  present  and  future  have 
their  proper  place  and  due  consideration. 

THE  PENALTY. 

Imperfect  co-ordination,  whether  by  procrastina- 
tion or  by  worry,  brings  discord.  The  parts  of  life 
are  at  variance  with  each  other.  The  procrastinator 
looks  on  past  indulgence  with  remorse  and  disgust; 
for  that  past  indulgence  is  now  loading  him  down 
with  present  disabilities  and  pains.  He  looks  on 
the  future  with  apprehension,  for  he  knows  that  his 
present  pleasures  are  purchased  at  the  cost  of  misery 
and  degradation  in  years  to  come. 

The  man  in  whom  worry  and  anxiety  have  be- 
come habitual  likewise  lives  a  discordant  life.  He 
looks  out  of  a  joyless  present,  back  on  a  past  devoid 
of  interest,  and  forward  into  a  future  full  of  fears. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Space* 

As  all  thoughts  and  actions  take  place  in  time,  so 
all  material  things  exist  in  space.  Everything  we 
have  must  be  in  some  place.  To  give  things  their 
right  relations  in  space  is  one  of  the  important  aspects 
of  conduct. 

THE  DUTY. 

A  place  for  everything,  and  everything  in  its 
place. — Things  that  belong  together  should  be  kept 
together.  Dishes  belong  in  the  cupboard ;  clothes 
in  the  closet ;  boxes  on  the  shelves ;  loose  papers  in 
the  waste  basket  ;  tools  in  the  tool-chest  ;  wood  in 
the  wood-shed.  And  it  is  our  duty  to  keep  them  in 
their  proper  place,  when  not  in  actual  use.  In  busi- 
ness it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  have  a  precise 
place  for  everything  connected  with  it.  The  car- 
penter or  machinist  must  have  a  place  for  each  tool, 
and  always  put  it  there  when  he  is  through  using  it. 
The  merchant  must  have  a  definite  book  and  page 
or  drawer  or  pigeon-hole  for  every  item  which  he 
records.  The  scholar  must  have  a  set  of  cards  or 
envelopes  or  drawers  or  pockets  alphabetically  ar- 
ranged in  which  he  keeps  each  class  of  facts  where 
he  can  turn  to  it  instantly.  This  keeping  things  of 
a  kind  together,  each  kind  in  a  place  by  itself,  is 

65 


66  SPACE. 

system.  Without  system  nothing  can  be  managed 
well,  and  no  great  enterprise  can  be  carried  on 
at   all. 

THE   VIRTUE. 

Orderliness  is  manly  and  virtuous  because  it 
keeps  things  under  our  own  control,  and  makes 
them  the  expression  of  our  will. — The  orderly  and 
systematic  man  can  manage  a  thousand  details  with 
more  ease  and  power  than  a  man  without  order  and 
system  can  manage  a  dozen.  It  is  not  power  to 
do  more  work  than  other  men,  but  power  to  do 
the  same  amount  of  work  in  such  an  orderly  and 
systematic  way  that  it  accomplishes  a  hundred  times 
as  much  as  other  men's  work,  which  marks  the  dif- 
ference between  the  statesman  who  manages  the 
affairs  of  a  nation  or  the  merchant  prince  who  handles 
millions  of  dollars,  and  the  man  of  merely  ordinary  ad- 
ministrative and  business  ability. 

THE   REWARD. 

The  orderly  man  has  his  resources  at  his  dis- 
posal at  a  moment's  notice. — He  can  go  directly 
to  the  thing  he  wants  and  be  sure  of  finding  it  in 
its  place.  When  a  business  is  thoroughly  system- 
atized it  is  as  easy  to  find  one  thing  out  of  ten  thou- 
sand as  it  is  to  find  one  thing  out  of  ten.  Hence 
there  is  scarcely  any  limit  to  the  expansion  of 
business  of  which  the  systematic  man  is  capable. 
A  business  thus  reduced  to  system  will  almost  run 
itself.  Thus  the  heads  of  great  concerns  are  able 
to  accept  public  office,  or  to  spend  a  year  in  Europe, 


THE    TEMPTATION.  67 

in  absolute  confidence  that  the  business  will  be  well 
conducted  in  their  absence,  and  that  they  can  take 
it  up  when  they  return  just  as  they  left  it.  For 
they  know  that  each  man  has  his  part  of  the  work 
for  which  he  is  responsible  ;  each  process  has  its  pre- 
cise method  by  which  it  is  to  be  performed  ;  each  ac- 
count has  its  exact  place  where  it  is  to  be  kept.  Order 
and  system  are  the  keys  to  business  success.  Order- 
liness keeps  things  under  our  control,  and  the  con- 
venience and  ef^ciency  with  which  things  serve  us 
is  the  direct  and  necessary  consequence  of  having 
them  under  control. 

THE    TEMPTATION. 

System  takes  more  labor  to  begin  with, 
but  in  the  long  run  system  is  the  greatest  labor- 
saving  device  in  the  world. — It  takes  ten  times  as 
long  to  hunt  up  a  thing  which  we  have  left  lying 
around  the  next  time  we  want  it,  as  it  does  to  put 
it  where  it  belongs  at  first.  Yet,  well  as  we  know 
this  fact,  present  and  temporary  ease  seems  of  more 
consequence  at  the  time  of  action  than  future  and 
permanent  convenience.  Until  by  repeated  exercise 
and  painful  discipline  we  make  orderliness  and 
system  habitual  and  almost  instinctive,  the  temp- 
tation to  make  the  quickest  and  handiest  disposition 
of  things  for  which  we  have  no  immediate  use  will 
continue  to  beset  our  minds  and  betray  our  wills. 

THE    VICE   OF  DEFECT. 

The  careless  man  lets  things  run  over  him. — 

They   mock   him,    and  make    fun  of  him  ;    getting 


68  SPACE. 

in  his  way  and  tripping  him  up  at  one  time  ;  hiding 
from  him  and  making  him  hunt  after  them  at  an- 
other. Carelessness  is  a  confession  of  a  weak  will 
that  cannot  keep  things  under  control.  And  weak- 
ness is  ever  the  mark  of  vice. 

THE   VICE   OF   EXCESS. 

The  end  and  aim  of  system  is  to  expedite 
business.  Red  tape  is  the  idolatry  of  system.  It 
is  system  for  the  sake  of  system. — Every  rule 
admits  exceptions.  To  make  exceptions  before  a 
habit  is  fully  formed  is  dangerous ;  and  while  we 
are  learning  the  habit  of  orderliness  and  system  we 
should  put  ourselves  to  very  great  inconvenience 
rather  than  admit  an  exception  to  our  systematic 
and  orderly  way  of  doing  things.  When,  however, 
the  habit  has  become  fixed,  it  is  wise  and  right 
to  sacrifice  order  and  system,  when  some  "  short 
cut"  will  attain  our  end  more  quickly  and  effec- 
tively than  the  regular  and  more  round-about  way 
of  orderly  procedure.  The  strong  and  successful 
business  man  is  he  who  has  his  system  so  thor- 
oughly under  his  control  that  he  can  use  it  or 
dispense  with  it  on  a  given  occasion,  according  as  it 
will  further  or  hinder  the  end  he  has  in  view. 

THE  PENALTY. 

The  careless  man  is  always  bothered  by 
things  he  does  not  want  getting  in  his  way  ;  and 
by  things  that  he  does  want  keeping  out  of  his 
way. — Half  his  time  is  spent  in  clearing  away  ac- 


THE  PENALTY.  69 

cumulated  obstructions  and  hunting  after  the  things 
he  needs.  Where  everything  is  in  a  heap  it  is 
necessary  to  haul  over  a  dozen  things  in  order  to  find 
the  one  you  are  after.  Carelessness  suffers  things  to 
get  the  mastery  over  us ;  and  the  consequence  is  that 
we  and  our  business  are  ever  at  their  mercy.  And 
as  things  held  in  control  are  faithful  and  efficient 
servants,  so  things  permitted  to  domineer  over  us 
and  do  as  they  please  become  cruel  and  arbitrary 
masters.  They  waste  our  time,  try  our  patience, 
destroy  our  business,  and  scatter  our  fortunes. 


CHAPTER  X. 

fortune* 

Strictly  speaking,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  for- 
tune, chance,  or  accident.  All  things  are  held  to- 
gether by  invariable  laws,  Every  event  takes  place 
in  accordance  with  law.  Uniformity  of  law  is  the 
condition  and  presupposition  of  all  our  thinking. 
The  very  idea  of  an  event  that  has  no  cause  is  a 
contradiction  in  terms  to  which  no  reality  can  cor- 
respond, like  the  notion  of  two  mountains  without 
a  valley  between  ;  or  a  yard  stick  with  only  one  end. 

Relatively  to  us,  and  in  consequence  of  the 
limitation  of  our  knowledge,  an  event  is  a  result 
of  chance  or  fortune  when  the  cause  which  pro- 
duced it  lies  beyond  the  range  of  our  knowledge. 
What  we  cannot  anticipate  beforehand  and  what 
we  cannot  account  for  afterward,  we  group  together 
into  a  class  and  ascribe  to  the  fictitious  goddess 
Fortune  ;  as  children  attribute  gifts  at  Christmas 
which  come  from  unknown  sources  to  Santa  Claus. 
In  reality  these  unexplained  and  unanticipated 
events  come  from  heredity,  environment,  social  in- 
stitutions, the  forces  of  nature,  and  ultimately  from 
God. 

These  things  which  project  themselves  without 
warning  into  our  lives,  often  have  most  momentous 

70 


THE  DUTY,  71 

influence  for  good  or  evil  over  us;  and  the  proper 
attitude  to  take  toward  this  class  of  objects  is 
worthy  of  consideration  by  itself. 

THE  DUTY. 

The  secret  of  superiority  to  fortune. — Some 
things  are  under  our  control ;  others  are  not.  It  is 
the  part  of  wisdom  to  concentrate  our  thought  and 
feeling  on  the  former ;  working  with  utmost  dili- 
gence to  make  the  best  use  of  those  things  which 
are  committed  to  us  in  the  regular  line  of  daily  duty, 
and  treating  with  comparative  indifference  those 
things  which  affect  us  from  without.  What  we  are  ; 
what  we  do  ;  what  we  strive  for  ; — these  are  the 
really  important  matters  ;  and  these  are  always  in 
our  power.  What  money  comes  to  us  ;  what  peo- 
ple say  about  us  ;  what  positions  we  are  called  to 
fill ;  to  what  parties  we  are  invited  ;  to  what  offices 
we  are  elected,  are  matters  which  concern  to  some 
extent  our  happiness.  We  should  welcome  these 
good  things  when  they  come.  But  they  affect  the 
accidents  rather  than  the  substance  of  our  lives. 
We  should  not  be  too  much  bound  up  in  them  when 
they  come  ;  and  we  should  not  grieve  too  deeply 
when  they  go.  We  should  never  stake  our  well- 
being  and  our  peace  of  mind  on  their  presence  or 
their  absence.  We  should  remember  that  "The 
aids  to  noble  life  are  all  within." 

This  lesson  of  superiority  to  fortune,  by  regarding 
the  things  she  has  to  give  as  comparatively  indiffer- 
ent, is  the  great  lesson  of  Stoicism.     Marcus  Aure- 


73  FORTUNE. 

lius,  Epictetus,  and  Seneca  are  the  masters  of  this 
school.  Their  lesson  is  one  we  all  need  to  learn 
thoroughly.  It  is  the  secret  of  strength  to  endure 
the  ills  of  life  with  serenity  and  fortitude.  And  yet 
it  is  by  no  means  a  complete  account  of  our  duty  to- 
ward these  outward  things.  It  is  closely  akin  to 
pride  and  self-sufficiency.  It  gives  strength  but  not 
sweetness  to  life.  One  must  be  able  to  do  without 
the  good  things  of  fortune  if  need  be.  The  really 
strong  man,  however,  is  he  who  can  use  and  enjoy 
them  without  being  made  dependent  on  them  or 
being  enslaved  by  them.  The  real  mastery  of  for- 
tune consists  not  in  doing  without  the  things  she 
brings  for  fear  they  will  corrupt  and  enslave  us  ; 
but  in  compelling  her  to  give  us  all  the  things  we 
can,  and  then  refusing  to  bow  down  to  her  in  hope 
of  getting  more.  This  just  appreciation  of  for- 
tune's gifts  is  doubtless  hard  to  combine  with 
perfect  independence.  The  Stoic  solution  of  the 
problem  is  easier.  The  really  strong  man,  however, 
is  he  who 

Gathers  earth's  whole  good  into  his   arms ; 
Marching  to  fortune,  not  surprised  by  her, 

and  the  secret  of  this  conquest  of  fortune  without 
being  captivated  by  her  lies  in  having,  as  Browning 
telling  us. 

One  great  aim,  like  a'guiding  star  above, 
Which  tasks  strength,  wisdom,  stateliness,  to  lift 
His  manhood  to  the  height  that  takes  the  prize. 

The  shortcoming  of  the  Stoics  is  not  in  the  super- 


THE    VIRTUE.  73 

iority  to  fortune  which  they  seek  ;  but  in  the  fact 
that  they  seek  it  directly  by  sheer  effort  of  naked 
will,  instead  of  being  lifted  above  subjection  to  for- 
tune by  the  attractive  power  of  generous  aims,  and 
high  ideals  of  social  service. 

THE   VIRTUE. 

The  virtue  which  maintains  superiority  over 
external  things  and  forces  is  courage. — In  prim- 
itive times  the  chief  form  of  fortune  was  physical 
danger,  and  superiority  to  fear  of  physical  injury 
was  the  original  meaning  of  courage.  Courage 
involves  this  physical  bravery  still ;  but  it  has  come 
to  include  a  great  deal  more.  In  a  civilized  com- 
munity, physical  danger  is  comparatively  rare. 
Courage  to  do  right  when  everyone  around  us  is 
doing  wrong;  courage  to  say  "  No  "  when  everyone 
is  trying  to  make  us  say  '*  Yes  "  ;  courage  to  bear 
uncomplainingly  the  inevitable  ills  of  life  ; — these  are 
the  forms  of  courage  most  frequently  demanded 
and  most  difficult  to  exercise  in  the  peaceful  security 
of  a  civilized  community.  This  courage  which  pre- 
sents an  unruffled  front  to  trouble,  and  bears 
bravely  the  steady  pressure  of  untoward  circum- 
stance, we  call  by  the  special  names  of  fortitude  or 
patience.  Patience  and  fortitude  are  courage  exer- 
cised in  the  conditions  of  modern  life.  The  essence 
of  courage  is  superiority  to  outside  forces  and  influ- 
ences. When  men  were  beset  by  lions  and  tigers, 
by  Indians  and  hostile  armies,  then  courage  showed 
itself  by  facing  and  fighting  these  enemies.     Now 


74  FORTUNE, 

that  we  live  with  civilized  and  friendly  men  and 
women  like  ourselves,  courage  shows  itself  chiefly  by 
refusing  to  surrender  our  convictions  of  what  is  true 
and  right  just  because  other  people  will  like  us  bet- 
ter if  we  pretend  to  think  as  they  do  ;  and  by 
enduring  without  flinching  the  rubs  and  bumps  and 
bruises  which  this  close  contact  with  our  fellows 
brings  to  us. 

Moral  courage. — The  brave  man  everywhere  is 
the  man  who  has  a  firm  purpose  in  his  own  breast, 
and  goes  forth  to  carry  out  that  purpose  in  spite  of 
all  opposition,  or  solicitation,  or  influence  of  any  kind 
that  would  tend  to  make  him  do  otherwise.  He 
does  the  same,  whether  men  blame  or  approve ; 
whether  it  bring  him  pain  or  pleasure,  profit  or  loss. 
The  purpose  that  is  in  him,  that  he  declares,  that  he 
maintains,  that  he  lives  to  realize  ;  in  defense  of  that 
he  will  lay  down  wealth,  reputation,  and,  if  need  be, 
life  itself.  He  will  be  himself,  if  he  is  to  live  at  all. 
Men  must  approve  what  he  really  is,  or  he  will  have 
none  of  their  praise,  but  their  blame  rather.  By  no 
pretense  of  being  what  he  is  not,  by  no  betrayal  of 
what  he  holds  to  be  true  and  right,  will  he  gain  their 
favor.  The  power  to  stand  alone  with  truth  and 
right  against  the  world  is  the  test  of  moral  courage. 
The  brave  man  plants  himself  on  the  eternal  foun- 
dations of  truth  and  justice,  and  bids  defiance  to  all 
the  forces  that  would  drive  him  from  it. 

Wordsworth,  in  his  character  of  *'  The  Happy 
Warrior,"  has  portrayed  the  kind  of  courage  de- 
manded of  the  modern  man: 


THE  REWARD.  75 

'Tis  he  whose  law  is  reason  ;  who  depends 
Upon  that  law  as  on  the  best  of  friends. 
Who  if  he  rise  to  station  of  command 
Rises  by  open  means,  and  there  will  stand 
On  honorable  terms,  or  else  retire. 
And  in  himself  possess  his  own  desire  : 
Who  comprehends  his  trust,  and  to  the  same 
Keeps  faithful  with  a  singleness  of  aim  ; 
And  therefore  does  not  stoop  nor  lie  in  wait 
For  wealth,  or  honors,  or  for  worldly  state  ; 
Whom  they  must  follow,  on  whose  head  must  fall 
Like  showers  of  manna,  if  they  come  at  all. 
'Tis  finally  the  man,  who,  hfted  high. 
Conspicuous  object  in  a  nation's  eye. 
Or  left  unthought  of  in  obscurity. 
Who  with  a  toward  or  untoward  lot, 
Prosperous  or  adverse,  to  his  wish  or  not, 
Plays  in  the  many  games  of  life,  that  one 
Where  what  he  most  doth  value  must  be  won  : 
Whom  neither  shape  of  danger  can  dismay. 
Nor  thought  of  tender  happiness  betray  ; 
Who,  not  content  that  former  worth  stand  fast, 
Looks  forward,  persevering  to  the  last. 
From  well  to  better,  daily  self-surpast  : 
This  is  the  happy  warrior  ;  this  is  he 
That  every  man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be. 

THE  REWARD. 

Courage  universally  honored.— There  is  some- 
thing in  this  strong,  steady  power  of  self-assertion 
that  compels  the  admiration  of  everyone  who  beholds 
it.  When  we  see  a  man  standing  squarely  on  his  own 
feet  ;  speaking  plainly  the  thoughts  that  are  in  his 
mind  ;  doing  fearlessly  what  he  believes  to  be  right  ; 
or  no  matter  how  widely  we  may  differ  from  his  views, 


76  FORTUNE. 

disapprove  his  deeds,  we  cannot  withhold  our  honor 
from  the  man  himself.  No  man  was  ever  held  in 
veneration  by  his  countrymen  ;  no  man  ever  handed 
down  to  history  an  undying  fame,  who  did  not  have 
the  courage  to  speak  and  act  his  real  thought  and 
purpose  in  defiance  of  the  revilings  and  persecutions 
of  his  fellows. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

To  take  one's  fortune  into  his  own  hands  and 
work  out,  in  spite  of  opposition  and  misfortune,  a 
satisfactory  careertasks  strength  and  resolution 
to  the  utmost. — It  is  so  much  more  easy  to  give 
over  the  determination  of  our  fate  to  some  outside 
power  that  the  abject  surrender  to  fortune  is  a  serious 
temptation.  Air-castles  and  day-dreams,  and  idle 
waiting  for  something  to  turn  up,  are  the  feeble  forms 
of  this  temptation.  The  impulse  to  run  away  from 
danger,  and  the  impulse  to  plunge  recklessly  into 
risks,  are  the  two  forms  of  temptation  which  lead  to 
the  more  pronounced  and  prevalent  vices. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

Yielding  to  outward  pressure,  contrary  to 
our  own  conviction  of  what  is  true  and  right,  is 
moral  cowardice. — In  early  times  the  coward  was 
the  man  who  turned  his  back  in  battle.  To-day 
the  coward  is  the  man  who  does  differently  when 
people  are  looking  at  him  from  what  he  would  do 
if  he  were  alone ;  the  man  who  speaks  what  he 
thinks  people  want    to    hear,  instead    of  what  he 


THE   VICE   OF  EXCESS,  77 

knows  to  be  true ;  the  man  who  apes  other  people 
for  fear  they  will  think  him  odd  if  he  acts  like  him- 
self ;  the  man  who  tries  so  hard  to  suit  everybody 
that  he  has  no  mind  of  his  own ;  the  man  who 
thinks  how  things  will  look,  instead  of  thinking  how 
things  really  are.  Whenever  we  take  the  determin- 
ation of  our  course  of  conduct  ultimately  from  any 
other  source  than  our  own  firm  conviction  of  what 
is  right  and  true,  then  we  play  the  coward.  We  do 
in  the  peaceful  conditions  of  modern  life  just  what 
we  despise  a  soldier  for  doing  on  the  field  of  battle. 
We  acknowledge  that  there  is  something  outside 
us  that  is  stronger  than  we  are  ;  of  which  we  are 
afraid ;  to  which  we  surrender  ourselves  as  base 
and  abject  slaves. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

There  are  forces  in  the  world  that  can  destroy 
us  ;  we  must  protect  ourselves  against  them. — 

To  be  truly  brave,  we  must  be  ready  to  face  these 
forces  when  there  is  a  reason  for  so  doing.  We 
must  be  ready  to  face  the  cannon  for  our  country ; 
to  plunge  into  the  swollen  stream  to  save  the  drown- 
ing child  ;  to  expose  ourselves  to  contagious  diseases 
in  order  to  nurse  the  sick. 

To  do  these  things  without  sufficient  reason  is 
foolhardiness.  To  expose  ourselves  needlessly  to 
disease ;  to  put  ourselves  in  the  range  of  a  cannon, 
to  jump  into  the  stream,  with  no  worthy  end  in 
view,  or  for  the  very  shallow  reason  of  showing  off 
how  brave  we  can  be,  is  folly  and  madness.     Doing 


78  FORTUNE. 

such  things  because  someone  dares  us  to  do  them 
is  not  courage,  but  cowardice. 

Gambling,  the  most  fatal  form  of  this  fondness 
for  taking  needless  risks. — The  gambler  is  too 
feeble  in  will,  too  empty  in  mind,  too  indolent  in 
body  ,to  carve  out  his  destiny  with  his  own  right 
hand.  And  so  he  stakes  his  well-being  on  the 
throw  of  the  dice  ;  the  turn  of  a  wheel ;  or  the 
speed  of  a  horse.  This  invocation  of  fortune  is  a 
confession  of  the  man's  incompetence  and  inability 
to  solve  the  problem  of  his  life  satisfactorily  by  his 
own  exertions.  It  is  the  most  demoralizing  of 
practices.  For  it  establishes  the  habit  of  staking 
well-being  not  on  one's  own  honest  efforts,  but  on 
outside  influences  and  forces.  It  is  the  dethrone- 
ment of  will  and  the  deposition  of  manhood. 

In  addition  to  being  degrading  to  the  individual 
it  is  injurious  toothers.  It  is  anti-social.  It  makes 
one  man's  gain  depend  on  another's  loss  :  while  the 
social  welfare  demands  that  gains  shall  in  all  cases 
be  mutual.  It  violates  the  fundamental  law  of 
equivalence. 

Since  the  essence  of  gambling  is  the  abrogation 
of  the  will,  every  indulgence  weakens  the  power 
to  resist  the  temptation.  Gambling  soon  becomes 
a  mania.  Honest  ways  of  earning  money  seem  slow 
and  dull.  And  the  habit  becomes  confirmed  before 
the  victim  is  aware  of  the  power  over  him  that  it 
has  gained.  Every  form  of  gain  which  is  contingent 
upon  another's  loss  partakes  of  the  nature  of  gam- 
bling.    Raffling,  playing  for  stakes,  betting,  buying 


THE  PENALTY.  79 

lottery  tickets,  speculation  in  which  there  is  no  real 
transfer  of  goods,  but  mere  winning  or  losing  on  the 
fluctuations  of  the  market,  are  all  forms  of  gambling. 
They  are  all  animated  by  the  desire  to  get  some- 
thing for  nothing :  a  desire  which  we  can  respect 
when  a  helpless  pauper  asks  for  alms  ;  but  of  which 
in  any  form  an  able-bodied  man  ought  to  be 
ashamed. 

THE  PENALTY. 

The  shame  of  cowardice.— Man  is  meant  to  be 
superior  to  things  outside  him.  When  we  see  him 
bowing  down  to  somebody  whom  he  does  not 
really  believe  in ;  when  we  see  him  yielding  to 
forces  which  he  does  not  himself  respect  ;  when 
living  is  more  to  him  than  living  well;  when  there 
is  a  threat  which  can  make  him  cringe,  or  a  bribe 
that  can  make  his  tongue  speak  false — then  we 
feel  that  the  manhood  has  gone  out  of  him,  and  we 
cannot  help  looking  on  his  fall  with  sorrow  and  with 
shame.  The  penalty  which  follows  moral  cowardice 
is  nowhere  more  clearly  stated  than  in  these  severe 
and  solemn  lines  which  Whittier  wrote  when  he 
thought  a  great  man  had  sacrificed  his  convictions 
to  his  desire  for  ofifice  and  love  of  popularity: 

So  fallen  !  so  lost !  the  light  withdrawn 

Which  once  he  wore ! 
The  glory  from  his  gray  hairs  gone 

Forevermore  ! 

Of  all  we  loved  and  honored,  naught 
Save  power  remains, — 


8o  FORTUNE. 

A  fallen  angel's  pride  of  thought, 
Still  strong  in  chains. 

All  else  is  gone,  from  those  great  eyes 

The  soul  has  fled  : 
When  faith  is  lost,  when  honor  dies, 

The  man  is  dead  ! 

Then  pay  the  reverence  of  old  days 

To  his  dead  fame ; 
Walk  backward,  with  averted  gaze. 

And  hide  the  shame. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

1Rature» 

Thus  far  we  have  been  considering  the  uses  to 
which  we  may  put  the  particular  things  which 
nature  places  at  our  disposal.  In  addition  to  these 
special  uses  of  particular  objects,  Nature  has  a 
meaning  as  a  whole.  The  Infinite  Reason  in  whose 
image  our  minds  are  formed  and  in  whose  thought 
our  thinking,  so  far  as  it  is  true,  partakes,  has  ex- 
pressed something  of  his  wisdom,  truth,  and  beauty, 
in  the  forms  and  laws  of  the  world  in  which  we  live. 
In  the  study  of  Nature  we  are  thinking  God's 
thoughts  after  him.  In  contemplation  of  the  glory 
of  the  heavens,  in  admiration  of  the  beauty  of 
field  and  stream  and  forest,  we  are  beholding  a 
loveliness  which  it  was  his  delight  to  create,  and 
which  it  is  elevating  and  ennobling  for  us  to  look 
upon.  Nature  is  the  larger,  fairer,  fuller  expression 
of  that  same  intelligence  and  love  which  wells  up  in 
the  form  of  consciousness  within  our  own  breasts. 
Nature  and  the  soul  of  man  are  children  of  the 
same  Father.  Nature  is  the  interpretation  of  the 
longings  of  our  hearts.  Hence  when  we  are  alone 
with  Nature  in  the  woods  and  fields,  by  the  sea- 
shore or  on  the  moon-lit  lake,  we  feel  at  peace  with 
ourselves,  and  at  home  in  the  world. 

8i 


S'i5'^ 


82  NA  TURE. 

THE  DUTY. 

The  love  of  nature,  like  all  love,  cannot  be 
forced. — It  is  not  directly  under  the  control  of  our 
will.  We  cannot  set  about  it  in  deliberate  fashion, 
as  we  set  about  earning  a  living.  Still  it  can  be 
cultivated.  We  can  place  ourselves  in  contact  with 
Nature's  more  impressive  aspects.  We  can  go 
away  by  ourselves ;  stroll  through  the  woods, 
watch  the  clouds ;  bask  in  the  sunshine  ;  brave  the 
storm  ;  listen  to  the  notes  of  birds ;  find  out  the 
haunts  of  living  creatures;  learn  the  times  and 
places  in  which  to  find  the  lowers ;  gaze  upon  the 
glowing  sunset,  and  look  up  into  the  starry  skies. 
If  we  thus  keep  close  to  Nature,  she  will  draw  us  to 
herself,  and  whisper  to  us  more  and  more  of  her 
hidden  meaning. 

The  eye — it  cannot  choose  but  see  ; 

We  cannot  bid  the  year  be  still : 
Our  bodies  feel,  where'er  they  be, 

Against  or  with  our  will. 

Nor  less  I  deem  that  there  are  powers 
Which  of  themselves  our  minds  impress  ; 

That  we  can  feed  these  minds  of  ours 
In  a  wise  passiveness. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

The  more  we  feel  of  the  beauty  and  signifi- 
cance of  Nature  the  more  we  become  capable  of 
feeling. — And  this  capacity  to  feel  the  influences 
which  Nature  is  constantly  throwing  around  us  is 
an   indispensable   element    in    noble   and   elevated 


THE   REWARD.  ^l 

character.  Our  thoughts,  our  acts,  yes,  our  very 
forms  and  features  reflect  the  objects  which  we 
habitually  welcome  to  our  minds  and  hearts.  And 
if  we  will  have  these  expressions  of  ourselves  noble 
and  pure,  we  must  drink  constantly  and  deeply  at 
Nature's  fountains  of  beauty  and  truth.  Words- 
worth, the  greatest  interpreter  of  Nature,  thus  de- 
scribes the  effect  of  Nature's  influence  upon  a  sensi- 
tive soul : 

She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn 

Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 

Of  mute,  insensate  things. 

The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  ;  for  her  the  willow  bend  : 

Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see, 
Even  in  the  motions  of  the  storm, 
Grace  that  shall  mold  the  maiden's  form 

By  silent  sympathy. 

The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her  ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  Beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

THE  REWARD. 

The  uplifting  and  purifying  power  of  nature. — 

Through  communion  with  the  grandeur  and  majesty 


84  NA  TURE. 

of  Nature,  our  lives  are  lifted  to  loftier  and 
purer  heights  than  our  unaided  wills  could  ever 
gain.  We  grow  into  the  likeness  of  that  we  love. 
We  are  transformed  into  the  image  of  that  which 
we  contemplate  and  adore.  We  are  thus  made 
strong  to  resist  the  base  temptations  ;  patient  to  en- 
dure the  petty  vexations ;  brave  to  oppose  the 
brutal  injustices,  of  daily  life.  This  whole  subject 
of  the  power  of  Nature  to  uplift  and  bless  has  been 
so  exhaustively  and  beautifully  expressed  by  Words- 
worth, that  fidelity  to  the  subject  makes  continued 
quotation  necessary: 

Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her  ;  'tis  her  privilege, 
Through  all  tlie  years  of  this  our  Hfe,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy :  for  she  can  so  inform 
The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 
With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 
With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tongues, 
Rash  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men, 
Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 
The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life, 
Shall  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 
Our  cheerful  faith,  that  all  which  we  behold 
Is  full  of  blessings. 

Therefore  am  I  still 
A  lover  of  the  meadows  and  the  woods 
And  mountains  ;  and  of  all  that  we  behold 
From  this  green  earth  ;  well  pleased  to  recognize 
In  Nature  and  the  language  of  the  sense 
The  anchor  of  my  purest  thoughts,  the  nurse, 
The  guide,  the  guardian  of  my  heart,  and  soul 
Of  all  my  moral  being. 


THE    TEMPTATION.  85 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

The  very  thoroughness  and  fidelity  with 
which  we  fulfill  one  duty,  may  hinder  the  fulfill- 
ment of  another. — We  may  become  so  absorbed 
in  earning  a  living,  and  carrying  on  our  business, 
and  getting  an  education,  that  we  shall  give  no 
time  or  attention  to  this  communion  with  Nature. 
The  fact  that  business,  education,  and  kindred  ex- 
ternal and  definite  pursuits  are  directly  under  the 
control  of  our  wills,  while  this  power  to  appreciate 
Nature  is  a  slow  and  gradual  growth,  only  indirectly 
under  our  control,  tempts  us  to  give  all  our  time 
and  strength  to  these  immediate,  practical  ends, 
and  to  neglect  that  closer  walk  with  Nature  which 
is  essential  to  a  true  appreciation  of  her  loveliness. 
Someone  asks  us  '*  What  is  the  use  of  spending 
your  time  with  the  birds  among  the  trees,  or  on  the 
hill-top  under  the  stars?"  and  we  cannot  give  him 
an  answer  in  dollars  and  cents.  And  so  we  are 
tempted  to  take  his  simple  standard  of  utility  in 
ministering  to  physical  wants  as  the  standard  of  all 
worth.  We  neglect  Nature,  and  she  hides  her  face 
from  our  preoccupied  eyes.  In  this  busy,  restless 
age  we  need  to  keep  ever  in  mind  Wordsworth's 
warning  against  this  fatal  temptation  : 

The  world  is  too  much  with  us ;  late  and  soon, 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers  : 

Little  we  see  in  Nature  that  is  ours  ; 
We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon  1 


86  A^A  TURE. 

THE  VICE   OF   DEFECT. 

This  obtuseness  does  not  come  upon  us  suddenly. 
All  children  keenly  appreciate  the  changing  moods 
of  Nature.  It  is  from  neglect  to  open  our  hearts  to 
Nature,  that  obtuseness  comes.  It  steals  over  us 
imperceptibly.  We  can  correct  it  only  by  giving 
ourselves  more  closely  and  constantly  to  Nature, 
and  trusting  her  to  win  back  to  herself  our  be- 
numbed and  alienated  hearts. 

THE  VICE   OF   EXCESS. 

Affectation  the  attempt  to  work  up  by  our  own 
efforts  an  enthusiasm  for  Nature. — True  love  of 
Nature  must  be  born  within  us,  by  the  working  of 
Nature  herself  upon  our  hearts.  By  faith,  rather 
than  by  works  ;  by  reception,  rather  than  by  con- 
quest ;  by  wise  passiveness,  rather  than  by  restless 
haste ;  by  calm  and  silence,  rather  than  by  noise 
and  talk,  our  sensitiveness  to  Nature's  charms  is 
deepened  and  developed.  That  enjoyment  of 
Nature  which  comes  spontaneously  and  unsought 
is  the  only  true  enjoyment.  That  which  we  work 
up,  and  plan  for,  and  talk  about,  is  a  poor  and 
feeble  imitation.  The  real  lover  of  Nature  is  not 
the  one  who  can  talk  glibly  about  her  to  every- 
body, and  on  all  occasions.  It  is  he  who  loves 
to  be  alone  with  her,  who  steals  away  from  men 
and  things  to  find  solitude  with  her  the  best 
society,    who    knows     not     whence     cometh     nor 


THE  PENALTY.  87 

whither  goeth  his  delight  in  her  companionship, 
who  waits  patiently  in  her  presence,  and  is  content 
whether  she  gives  or  withholds  her  special  favors, 
who  cares  more  for  Nature  herself  than  for  this  or 
that  striking  sensation  she  may  arouse.  Affectation 
is  the  craving  for  sensations  regardless  of  their 
source.  And  if  Nature  is  chary  of  striking  scenes 
and  startling  impressions  and  thrilling  experiences, 
affectation,  with  profane  haste,  proceeds  to  amuse 
itself  with  artificial  feelings,  and  pretended  raptures. 
This  counterfeited  appreciation,  like  all  counter- 
feits, by  its  greater  cheapness  drives  out  the'real 
enjoyment ;  and  the  person  who  indulges  in  affecta- 
tion soon  finds  the  power  of  genuine  appreciation 
entirely  gone.  Affectation  is  worse  than  obtuse- 
ness,  for  obtuseness  is  at  least  honest :  it  may  mend 
its  ways.  But  affectation  is  self-deception.  The 
affected  person  does  not  know  what  true  apprecia- 
tion of  Nature  is  :  he  cannot  see  his  error;  and  con- 
sequently cannot  correct  it. 

THE  PENALTY. 

The  life  of  man  can  be  no  deeper  and  richer 
than  the  objects  and  thoughts  on  which  it  feeds. 

— Without  appreciation  and  love  for  Nature  we 
can  eat  and  drink  and  sleep  and  do  our  work. 
The  horse  and  ox,  however,  can  do  as  much.  Obtuse- 
ness to  the  beauty  and  meaning  of  Nature  sinks  us 
to  the  level  of  the  brutes.  Cut  off  from  the  springs 
of  inspiration,  our  lives  stagnate,  our  souls  shrivel, 
our  sensibilities    wither.     And    just    as    stagnant 


88  j^A  TURE. 

water  soon  becomes  impure,  and  swarms  with  low 
forms  of  vegetable  and  animal  life,  so  the  stag- 
nant soul,  which  refuses  to  reflect  the  beauty  of 
sun  and  star  and  sky,  soon  becomes  polluted  with 
sordidness  and  selfishness  and  sensuality. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Hrt. 

Nature  is  incomplete.  She  leaves  man  to  provide 
for  himself  his  raiment,  shelter,  and  surroundings. 
Nature  in  her  works  throws  out  suggestions  of 
beauty,  rather  than  its  perfect  and  complete  embodi- 
ment. Her  gold  is  imbedded  in  the  rock.  Her 
creations  are  limited  by  the  particular  material 
and  the  narrow  conditions  which  are  at  her  disposal 
at  a  given  time  and  place.  To  seize  the  pure 
ideal  of  beauty  which  Nature  suggests,  but  never 
quite  realizes;  to  select  from  the  universe  of  space 
and  the  eternity  of  time  those  materials  and  forms 
which  are  perfectly  adapted  to  portray  the  ideal 
beauty  ;  to  clothe  the  abodes  and  the  whole  phys- 
ical environment  of  man  with  that  beauty  which 
is  suggested  to  us  in  sky  and  stream  and  field 
and  flower ;  to  present  to  us  for  perpetual  contem- 
plation the  form  and  features  of  ideal  manhood  and 
womanhood  ;  to  hold  before  our  imagination  the 
deeds  of  brave  men,  and  the  devotion  of  saintly 
women  ;  to  thrill  our  hearts  with  the  victorious 
struggle  of  the  hero  and  the  death-defying  passion 
of  the  lover  ; — this  is  the  mission  and  the  signifi- 
cance of  art. 

Art  is  creative.     The  artist  is  a  co-worker   with 


90  ART. 

God.  To  his  hands  is  committed  the  portion 
of  the  world  which  God  has  left  unfinished — 
the  immediate  environment  of  man.  We  cannot 
live  in  the  fields,  like  beasts  and  savages. 
Art  has  for  its  purpose  to  make  the  rooms  and 
houses  and  halls  and  streets  and  cities  in  which 
civilized  men  pass  their  days  as  beautiful  and  fair, 
as  elevating  and  inspiring,  as  the  fields  and  forests  in 
which  the  primeval  savage  roamed.  More  than 
that,  art  aims  to  fill  these  rooms  and  halls  and 
streets  of  ours  with  forms  and  symbols  which  shall 
preserve,  for  our  perpetual  admiration  and  inspira- 
tion, all  that  is  purest  and  noblest  and  sweetest  in. 
that  long  struggle  of  man  up  from  his  savage  to  his 
civilized  estate. 

THE  DUTY. 

Beauty  is  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  in- 
ward perfection,  completeness,  and  harmony. — 

In  an  object  of  beauty  there  is  neither  too  little  nor 
too  much  ;  nothing  is  out  of  place  ;  nothing  is  with- 
out its  contribution  to  the  perfect  whole.  Each  part 
is  at  once  means  and  end  to  every  other.  Hence  its 
perfect  symmetry  ;  its  regular  proportions ;  its  strict 
conformity  to  law. 

The  mind  of  man  can  find  rest  and  satisfaction  in 
nothing  short  of  perfection  ;  and  consequently  our 
hearts  are  never  satisfied  until  they  behold  beauty, 
which  is  perfection's  crown  and  seal.  Without  it 
one  of  the  deepest  and  divinest  powers  of  our  nature 
remains  dwarfed,  stifled,  and  repressed. 


THE    VIRTUE.  9^ 

How  to  cultivate  the  love  of  beauty. — It  is  our 

duty  to  see  to  it  that  everything  under  our  con- 
trol is  as  beautiful  as  we  can  make  it.  The  rooms 
we  live  in  ;  the  desk  at  which  we  work ;  the 
clothes  we  wear ;  the  house  we  build  ;  the  pictures 
on  our  walls ;  the  garden  and  grounds  in  which 
we  walk  and  work ;  all  must  have  some  form  or 
other.  That  form  must  be  either  beautiful  or  hide- 
ous; attractive  or  repulsive.  It  is  our  duty  to  pay 
attention  to  these  things;  to  spend  thought  and 
labor,  and  such  money  as  we  can  afford  upon  them, 
in  order  to  make  them  minister  to  our  delight.  Not 
in  staring  at  great  works  of  art  which  we  have  not 
yet  learned  to  appreciate,  but  by  attention  to 
the  beauty  or  ugliness  of  the  familiar  objects 
that  we  have  about  us  and  dwell  with  from  day 
to  day,  we  shall  best  cultivate  that  love  of  beauty 
which  will  ultimately  make  intelligible  to  us  the 
true  significance  of  the  masterpieces  of  art.  Here 
as  everywhere,  to  him  that  hath  shall  more  be  given. 
We  must  serve  beauty  humbly  and  faithfully  in 
the  little  things  of  daily  life,  if  we  will  enjoy  her 
treasures  in  the  great  galleries  of  the  world. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Beauty  is  a  jealous  mistress. — If  we  trifle  with 
her  ;  if  we  fall  in  love  with  pretentious  imitations 
and  elaborate  ornamentations  which  have  no  beauty 
in  them,  but  are  simply  gotten  up  to  sell ;  then  the 
true  and  real  beauty  will  never  again  suffer  us  to 
see  her  face.      She  will  leave  us  to  our  idols:    and 


92  ART. 

our  power  to  appreciate  and  admire  true  beauty  will 
die  out. 

Fidelity  to  beauty  requires  that  we  have  no  more 
things  than  we  can  either  use  in  our  work,  or  enjoy 
in  our  rest.  And  these  things  that  we  do  have 
must  be  either  perfectly  plain  ;  or  else  the  ornamen- 
tation about  them  must  be  something  that  expresses 
a  genuine  admiration  and  affection  of  our  hearts. 
A  farmer's  kitchen  is  generally  a  much  more  attrac- 
tive place  than  his  parlor;  just  because  this  law  of 
simplicity  is  perfectly  expressed  in  the  one,  and  fla- 
grantly violated  in  the  other.  The  study  of  a  scholar, 
the  of^ce]of  the  lawyer  and  the  business  man,  is  not 
infrequently  a  more  beautiful  place,  one  in  which  a 
man  feels  more  at  home,  than  his  costly  drawing 
room.  What  sort  of  things  we  shall  have,  and 
how  many,  cannot  be  determined  for  us  by  any 
general  rule  ;  still  less  by  aping  somebody  else.  In 
our  housekeeping,  as  in  everything  else,  we  should 
begin  with  the  few  things  that  are  absolutely  essen- 
tial ;  and  then  add  decoration  and  ornament  only  so 
fast  as  we  can  find  the  means  of  gratifying  cherished 
longings  for  forms  of  beauty  which  we  have  learned 
to  admire  and  love.  "  Simplicity  of  life,"  says 
William  Morris,  "  even  the  barest,  is  not  a  misery, 
but  the  very  foundation  of  refinement :  a  sanded 
floor  and  whitewashed  walls,  and  the  green  trees, 
and  flowery  meads,  and  living  waters  outside.  If 
you  cannot  learn  to  love  real  art,  at  least  learn  to 
hate  sham  art  and  reject  it.  If  the  real  thing  is  not 
to  be  had,  learn  to  do  without  it.     If  you  want  a 


THE  REWARD,  93 

golden  rule  that  will  fit  everybody,  this  is  it :  Have 
nothing  in  your  houses  that  you  do  not  know  to  be 
useful,  or  believe  to  be  beautiful." 

THE  REWARD. 

The  refining  influence  of  beauty. — Devotion  to 
art  and  beauty  in  simplicity  and  sincerity  develops 
an  ever  increasing  capacity  for  its  enjoyment.  As 
Keats,  the  master  poet  of  pure  beauty,  tells  us, 

A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever  : 

Its  loveliness  increases ;  it  will  never 

Pass  into  nothingness  ;  but  still  will  keep 

A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep, 

Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing. 

The  refining  influence  of  the  love  of  beauty 
draws  us  mysteriously  and  imperceptibly,  but  none 
the  less  powerfully,  away  from  what  is  false  in 
thought  and  base  in  action  ;  and  develops  a  deep 
and  lasting  afifinity  for  all  that  is  true  and  good. 
The  good,  the  true,  and  the  beautiful  are  branches 
of  a  common  root;  members  of  a  single  whole:  and 
if  one  of  these  members  suffer,  all  the  members 
suffer  with  it ;  and  if  one  is  honored,  all  are  honored 
with  it. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Luxury  the  perversion  of  beauty. — Luxury  is 
the  pleasure  of  possession,  instead  of  pleasure  in 
the  thing  possessed.  Luxury  buys  things,  not 
because  it  likes  them,  but  because  it  likes  to  have 
them.     And  so  the  luxurious  man  fills  his  house 


94  ART. 

with  all  sorts  of  things,  not  because  he  finds  de- 
light in  these  particular  things,  and  wants  to  share 
that  delight  with  all  his  friends  ;  but  because  he 
supposes  these  are  the  proper  things  to  have,  and 
he  wants  everybody  to  know  that  he  has  them. 

The  man  who  buys  things  in  this  way  does  not 
know  what  he  wants.  Consequently  he  gets  cheated. 
He  buys  ugly  things  as  readily  as  beautiful  things, 
if  only  the  seller  is  shrewd  enough  to  make  him  be- 
lieve they  are  fashionable.  Others,  less  intelligent 
than  this  man,  see  what  he  has  done;  take  for  granted 
that  because  he  has  done  it,  it  must  be  the  proper 
thing  to  do  ;  and  go  and  do  likewise.  Thus  taste 
becomes  dulled  and  deadened ;  the  costly  and 
elaborate  drives  out  the  plain  and  simple  ;  the  de- 
sire for  luxury  kills  out  the  love  of  beauty  ;  and  art 
expires. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

Ugly    surroundings    make   ugly    souls. — The 

outward  and  the  inward  are  bound  fast  together. 
The  beauty  or  ugliness  of  the  objects  we  have 
about  us  are  the  standing,  choices  of  our  wills. 
As  the  object,  so  is  the  subject.  We  grow  into  the 
likeness  of  what  we  look  upon.  Without  harmony 
and  beauty  to  feed  upon,  the  love  of  beauty  starves 
and  dies.  Our  hearts  become  cold  and  hard.  Not 
being  called  out  in  admiration  and  delight,  our  feel- 
ings brood  over  mean  and  sensual  pleasures  ;  they 
dwell  upon  narrow  and  selfish  concerns  ;  they 
fasten  upon  the  accumulation  of  wealth  or  the  van- 


THE   VICE   OF  EXCESS.  95 

quishing  of  a  rival,  as  substitutes  for  the  nobler  in- 
terests that  have  vanished  ;  and  the  heart  becomes 
sordid,  sensual,  mean,  petty,  spiteful,  and  ugly. 
The  spirit  of  man,  like  nature,  abhors  a  vacuum  ; 
and  into  the  heart  from  which  the  love  of  the  beau- 
tiful has  been  suffered  to  depart,  these  hideous  and 
ugly  traits  of  character  make  haste  to  enter,  and 
occupy  the  vacant  space.  What  Shakspere  says 
of  a  single  art,  music,  is  true  of  art  and  beauty  in 
general : 

The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  mov'd  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds. 

Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils : 

The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 

And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus. 

Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. 

THE   VICE   OF  EXCESS. 

The  hollowness  of  ostentation. — Man  is  never 
proud  of  what  he  really  enjoys  ;  never  vain  of  what 
he  truly  loves ;  never  anxious  to  show  off  the  tastes 
and  interests  that  are  essentially  his  own.  In  order 
to  take  this  false  attitude  toward  an  object,  it  is 
necessary  to  hold  it  apart  from  ourselves :  a  thing 
which  the  true  lover  can  never  do.  He  who  loves 
beautiful  things  will  indeed  wish  others  to  share  his 
joy  in  them.  But  this  sharing  of  our  joy  in  beauti- 
ful objects,  is  a  very  different  thing  from  showing 
off  our  fine  things,  simply  to  let  other  people  know 
that  we  have  them.  Ostentation  is  the  vice  of 
ignorant  wealth  and  vulgar  luxury.  It  estimates 
objects  by  their  expensiveness  rather  than  by  their 


96  ART. 

beauty ;  it  aims  to  awaken  in  ourselves  pride  rathei 
than  pleasure;  and  to  arouse  in  others  astonishment 
rather  than  admiration. 

THE  PENALTY. 

Vulgarity  akin  to  laziness.— Art,  and  the  beauty 
which  it  creates,  costs  painstaking  labor  to  pro- 
duce. And  to  enjoy  it  when  it  is  produced,  re- 
quires at  first  thoughtful  and  discriminating  atten- 
tion. The  formation  of  a  correct  taste  is  a  growth, 
not  a  gift.  Hence  the  dull,  the  lazy,  and  the  indif- 
ferent never  acquire  this  cultivated  taste  for  the 
beautiful  in  art.  This  lack  of  perception,  this  inca- 
pacity for  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful,  is  vulgarity. 
Vulgarity  is  contentment  with  what  is  common,  and 
to  be  had  on  easy  terms.  The  root  of  it  is  laziness. 
The  mark  of  it  is  stupidity. 

At  great  pains  the  race  has  worked  out  beautiful 
forms  of  speech,  for  communicating  our  ideas  to  each 
other.  Vulgarity  in  speech  is  too  lazy  to  observe 
these  precise  and  beautiful  forms  of  expression ; 
it  clips  its  words  ;  throws  its  sentences  together  with- 
out regard  to  grammar  ;  falls  into  slang  ;  draws  its 
figures  from  the  coarse  and  low  and  sensual  side  of 
life,  instead  of  from  its  pure  and  noble  aspects. 

Vulgarity  with  reference  to  dress,  dwellings, 
pictures,  reading,  is  of  the  same  nature.  It  results 
from  the  dull,  unmeaning  gaze  with  which  one  looks 
at  things  ;  the  shiftless,  slipshod  way  of  doing  work  ; 
the  **  don't  care "  habit  of  mind  which  calls  any- 
thing that  happens  to  fall  in  its  way  "  good  enough." 


THE  PENALTY.  97 

From  all  that  is  precious  and  beautiful  and  lovely 
the  vulgar  man  is  hopelessly  excluded.  They  are 
all  around  him ;  but  he  has  no  eyes  to  see,  no 
taste  to  appreciate,  no  heart  to  respond  to  them. 
"All  things  excellent,"  so  Spinoza  tells  us,  "are 
as  difficult  as  they  are  rare."  The  vulgar  man  has 
no  heart  for  difficulty  ;  and  hence  the  rare  excel- 
lence of  art  and  beauty  remain  forever  beyond  his 
reach. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Hntmals, 

Animals  stand  midway  between  things  and  per- 
sons. We  own  them,  use  them,  kill  them,  even,  for 
our  own  purposes.  Yet  they  have  feelings,  impulses, 
and  affections  in  common  with  ourselves.  In  some 
respects  they  surpass  us.  In  strength,  in  speed,  in 
keenness  of  scent,  in  fidelity,  blind  instinct  in  the 
animal  is  often  superior  to  reason  in  the  man. 

Yet  the  animal  falls  short  of  personality.  It  is 
conscious,  but  not  self-conscious.  It  knows  ;  but  it 
does  not  know  that  it  knows.  It  can  perform  as- 
tonishing feats  of  intelligence.  But  it  cannot  ex- 
plain, even  to  itself,  the  way  in  which  it  does  them. 
The  animal  can  pass  from  one  particular  experience 
to  another  along  lines  of  association  in  time  and 
space  with  marvelous  directness  and  accuracy.  To 
rise  from  a  particular  experience  to  the  universal 
class  to  which  that  experience  belongs  ;  and  then, 
from  the  known  characteristics  of  the  class,  to  de- 
duce the  characteristics  of  another  particular  experi- 
ence of  the  same  kind,  is  beyond  the  power  of  the 
brute. 

The  brute  likewise  has  feelings ;  but  it  does  not 
recognize  these  feelings  as  parts  of  a  total  and  per- 
manent self.     Pleasure  and  pain   the  animal   feels 


THE   DUTY.  99 

probably  as  keenly  as  we  do.     Of  happiness  or  un- 
happiness  they  probably  know  nothing. 

They  do  not  sweat  and  whine  about  their  condition, 
They  do  not  He  awake  in  the  dark  and  weep  for  their  sins. 
Not  one  is  respectable  or  unhappy  over  the  whole  earth. 

Animals  can  be  trained  to  do  right,  but  they  can- 
not love  righteousness.  They  can  be  trained  to 
avoid  acts  which  are  associated  with  painful  conse- 
quences, but  they  cannot  hate  iniquity.  The  life 
of  an  animal  is  a  series  of  sensations,  impulses, 
thoughts,  and  actions.  These  are  never  gathered 
up  into  unity.  The  animal  is  more  than  a  machine, 
and  less  than  a  person. 

THE   DUTY. 

We  ought  to  realize  that  the  animal  has  feel- 
ings as  keen  as  our  own. — We  owe  to  these  feelings 
in  the  animal  the  same  treatment  that  we  would  wish 
for  the  same  feelings  in  ourselves.  For  animals  as 
for  ourselves  we  should  seek  as  much  pleasure  and 
as  little  pain  as  is  consistent  with  the  perform- 
ance of  the  work  which  we  think  it  best  to  lay  upon 
them.  The  horse  cannot  choose  for  itself  how 
heavy  a  load  to  draw.  We  ought  to  adapt  the  load 
to  its  strength.  And  in  order  to  do  that  we  must 
stop  and  consider  how  much  strength  it  has.  The 
horse  and  cow  and  dog  cannot  select  their  own  food 
and  shelter.  We  must  think  for  them  in  these 
matters ;  and  in  order  to  do  so  wisely,  we  must 
consider  their  nature,  habits,  and  capacities.      No 


lOO  ANIMALS. 

person  is  fit  to  own  an  animal,  who  is  not  willing  to 
take  the  trouble  to  understand  the  needs,  capacities, 
and  nature  of  that  animal.  And  acts  which  result 
from  ignorance  of  such  facts  as  can  be  readily 
learned  are  inexcusable. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Kindness  is  the  recognition  that  a  feeling  of 
another  being  is  of  just  as  much  consequence  as 
a  feeling  of  my  own. — Now  we  have  seen  that  in 
some  respects  animals  are  precisely  like  ourselves. 
Kindness  recognizes  this  bond  of  the  kind,  or  kin- 
ship, as  far  as  it  extends.  Kindness  to  animals  does 
not  go  so  far  as  kindness  to  our  fellow-men  ;  because 
the  kinship  between  animals  and  man  does  not  ex- 
tend as  far  as  kinship  between  man  and  man.  So 
far  as  it  does  extend,  however,  kindness  to  animals 
treats  them  as  we  should  wish  to  be  treated  by  a 
person  who  had  us  in  his  power.  Kindness  will 
inflict  no  needless  suffering  upon  an  animal ;  make 
no  unreasonable  requirement  of  it  ;  expose  it  to  no 
needless  privation. 

THE  REWARD. 

Kindness  toward  animals  reacts  upon  our 
hearts,  making  them  tender  and  sympathetic— 
Every  act  we  perform  leaves  its  trace  in  tendency 
to  act  in  the  same  way  again.  And  in  its  effect 
upon  ourselves  it  matters  little  whether  the  objects 
on  which  our  kindness  has  been  bestowed  have 
been  high  or  low  in  the  scale  of  being.  In  any 
case    the    effect    remains    with     us    in     increased 


THE    TEMPTATION-,  loi 

tenderness,  not  only  toward  the  particular  objects 
which  have  called  it  forth,  but  toward  all  sentient 
beings.  Kindness  to  animals  opens  our  hearts 
toward  God  and  our  fellow-men. 

He  prayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us. 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

We.  are  tempted  to  forget  this  sensitive  nature 
of  the  animal,  and  to  treat  it  as  a  mere  thing.— 

We  have  a  perfect  right  to  sacrifice  the  pleasure  of 
an  animal  to  the  welfare  of  ourselves.  We  have  no 
right  to  sacrifice  the  welfare  of  the  animal  to  our 
capricious  feelings.  We  have  no  right  to  neglect  an 
animal  from  sheer  unwillingness  to  give  it  the  re- 
sonable  attention  which  is  necessary  to  provide  it 
with  proper  food,  proper  care,  proper  shelter,  and 
proper  exercise.  A  little  girl,  reproved  for  neglect- 
ing to  feed  her  rabbits,  when  asked  indignantly  by 
her  father,  ''  Don't  you  love  your  rabbits  ?  "  replied, 
"  Yes,  I  love  them  better  than  I  love  to  feed  them." 
This  love  which  doesn't  love  to  feed  is  sentimental- 
ity, the  fundamental  vice  of  all  personal  relations, 
of  which  we  shall  hear  more  later.  The  temptation 
arises  even  here  in  our  relations  to  the  animal.  It 
is  always  so  much  easier  to  neglect  a  claim  made 
upon  us  from  without,  than  to  realize  and  respect  it. 


loa  ANIMALS. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT.  , 

Ignorant  or  willful  disregard  of  the  nature  and 
welfare  of  an  animal  is  cruelty.— Overloading 
beasts  of  burden  ;  driving  them  when  lame  ;  keep- 
ing them  on  insufficient  food,  or  in  dark,  cold,  and 
unhealthy  quarters  ;  whipping,  goading,  and  beat- 
ing them  constantly  and  excessively  are  the  most 
common  forms  of  cruelty  to  animals.  Pulling  flies 
to  pieces,  stoning  frogs,  robbing  birds'  nests  are 
forms  of  cruelty  of  which  young  children  are  often 
guilty  before  they  are  old  enough  to  reflect  that 
their  sport  is  purchased  at  the  cost  of  frightful  pain 
to  these  poor  innocent  and  defenseless  creatures. 
The  simple  fact  that  we  are  strong  and  they  are 
weak  ought  to  make  evident,  to  anyone  capable  of 
the  least  reflection,  how  mean  a  thing  it  is  to  take 
advantage  of  our  superior  strength  and  knowledge 
to  inflict  pain  on  one  of  these  creatures  which  nature 
has  placed  under  the  protection  of  our  superior 
power  and  knowledge,  and  lead  us  to  resolve 

Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 
With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  thing  that  feels. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Subjection  to  animals  degrading.— The  animals 
are  vastly  inferior  to  man  in  dignity  and  worth. 
Many  of  them  have  strong  wills  of  their  own,  and  if 
we  will  allow  it,  will  run  over  us,  and  have  their  own 
way  in  spite  of  us.  Such  subjection  of  a  man  or 
woman  to  an  animal  is  a  most  shameful  sight.     To 


THE  PENALTY.  103 

have  dominion  over  them  is  man's  prerogative  ;  and 
to  surrender  that  prerogative  is  to  abrogate  our 
humanity. 

This  subjection  of  a  person  to  an  animal  may- 
come  about  through  a  morbid  and  sentimental  affec- 
tion for  an  animal.  When  a  man  or  a  woman  makes 
an  animal  so  much  of  a  pet  that  every  caprice  of 
the  cat  or  dog  is  law  ;  when  the  whole  arrange- 
ments of  the  household  are  made  to  yield  to  its 
whims ;  when  affections  that  are  withheld  from 
earnest  work  and  human  service  are  lavished  in 
profusion  on  a  pug  or  a  canary ;  there  again  we 
see  the  order  of  rank  in  the  scale  of  dignity  and 
worth  inverted,  and  the  human  bowing  to  the 
beast. 

THE  PENALTY. 

Inhumanity  to  brutes  brutalizes  humanity. — 

If  we  refuse  by  consideration  and  kindness  to  lift 
the  brute  up  into  our  human  sympathy,  and  recog- 
nize in  it  the  rights  and  feelings  which  it  has  in 
common  with  us,  then  we  sink  to  the  unfeeling  and 
brutal  level  to  which  our  cruelty  seeks  to  consign 
the  brutes.  Every  cruel  blow  inflicted  on  an  animal 
leaves  an  ugly  scar  in  our  own  hardened  hearts, 
which  mars  and  destroys  our  capacity  for  the 
gentlest  and  sweetest  sympathy  with  our  fellow- 
men. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  Unus  homo,  nullus  homo  "  is  a  Latin  proverb 
which  means  that  one  man  alone  is  no  man  at  all. 
A  man  who  should  be  neither  son,  brother,  husband, 
father,  neighbor,  citizen,  or  friend  is  inconceivable. 
To  try  to  think  of  such  a  man  is  like  trying  to  think 
of  a  stone  without  size,  weight,  surface,  or  color. 
Man  is  by  nature  a  social  being.  Apart  from 
society  man  would  not  be  man.  "  Whosoever  is 
delighted  in  solitude  is  either  a  wild  beast  or  a  god." 
To  take  out  of  a  man  all  that  he  gets  from  his  rela- 
tions to  other  men  would  be  to  take  out  of  him 
kindness,  compassion,  sympathy,  love,  loyalty,  de- 
votion, gratitude,  and  heroism.  It  would  reduce 
him  to  the  level  of  the  brutes.  What  water  is  to 
the  fish,  what  air  is  to  the  bird,  that  association 
with  his  fellow-men  is  to  a  man.  It  is  as  necessary 
to  the  soul  as  food  and  raiment  are  to  the  body. 
Only  as  we  see  ourselves  reflected  in  the  praise  or 
blame,  the  love  or  hate  of  others  do  we  become 
conscious  of  ourselves. 

THE  DUTY. 

Since  our  fellow-men  are  so  essential  to  us  and 
we  to  them,  it  is  our  duty  to  live  in  as  intimate 
fellowship  with  them  as  possible. — The  funda- 


THE   DUTY.  105 

mental  form  of  fellowship  is  hospitality.  By  the 
fireside  and  around  the  family  table  we  feel  most 
free,  and  come  nearest  to  one  another.  Without 
hospitality,  such  intercourse  is  impossible.  Hospi- 
tality, in  order  to  fulfill  its  mission  of  fellowship, 
must  be  genuine,  sincere,  and  simple.  True  hospi- 
tality welcomes  the  guest  to  our  hearts  as  well  as  to 
our  homes  ;  and  the  invitation  to  our  homes  when 
our  hearts  are  withheld  is  a  hollow  mockery.  It 
is  a  dangerous  thing  to  have  our  bodies  where  our 
hearts  are  not.  For  we  acquire  the  habit  of  con- 
cealing our  real  selves,  and  showing  only  the  surface 
of  our  natures  to  others.  We  become  hollow, 
unreal,  hypocritical.     We  live  and  move 

Trick'd  in  disguises,  alien  to  the  rest 
Of  men  and  alien  to  ourselves — and  yet 
The  same  heart  beats  in  eveiy  human  breast. 

Fellowship  requires  not  only  that  we  shall  be 
hospitable  and  ask  others  to  our  homes,  but  that 
we  shall  go  out  of  our  way  to  meet  others  in  their 
homes,  and  wherever  they  may  be. 

The  deepest  fellowship  cannot  be  made  to 
order.  It  comes  of  itself  along  lines  of  com- 
mon interests  and  common  aims. — The  harder 
we  try  to  force  people  together,  and  to  make  them 
like  each  other,  the  farther  they  fly  apart.  Give 
them  some  interest  or  enthusiasm  in  common, 
whether  it  be  practical,  or  scientific,  or  literary,  or 
artistic,  or  musical,  or  religious,  and  this  interest, 
which  draws  both  toward  itself  at  the  same  time 


lo6  FELLOW-MEN. 

draws  them  toward  each  other.  Hence  a  person, 
who  from  bashfulness  or  any  other  reason  is  kept 
from  intimate  fellowship  with  others,  will  often  find 
the  best  way  to  approach  them,  not  to  force 
himself  into  their  companionship,  against  his  will 
and  probably  against  theirs  ;  but  to  acquire  skill 
as  a  musician,  or  reader,  or  student  of  science  or 
letters,  or  philanthrophy  or  social  problems.  Then 
along  these  lines  of  common  interest  he  will  meet 
men  in  ways  that  will  be  at  once  helpful  and 
natural. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Love  is  not  soft,  sentimental  self-indulgence. 
It  is  going  out  of  ourselves,  and  taking  others 
into  our  hearts  and  lives. — Love  calls  for  hard 
service  and  severe  self-sacrifice,  when  the  needs  of 
others  make  service  possible  and  self-sacrifice  neces- 
sary. Love  binds  us  to  others  and  others  to  our- 
selves in  bonds  of  mutual  fidelity  and  helpfulness. 
A  Latin  poet  sums  up  the  spirit  of  love  in  the 
famous  line  : 

Homo  sum  :   humani  nil  a  me  alienum  puto. 
[I  am  a  man :  and  I  count  nothing  human  foreign  to  myself.] 

Kant  has  expressed  the  principle  of  love  in  the 
form  of  a  maxim  :  ''  Treat  humanity,  whether  in  thy- 
self or  in  others,  always  as  an  end,  never  as  a 
means."  We  have  seen  that  the  temptation  to 
treat  others  merely  as  tools  to  minister  to  our  grati- 
fication, or  as  obstacles  to  be  pushed  out  of  our 
pathway,    is   very   strong.     What    makes  us   treat 


THE    VIRTUE,  1 07 

people  in  that  way  is  our  failure  to  enter  into  their 
lives,  to  see  things  as  they  see  them,  and  to  feel 
things  as  they  feel  them.  Kant  tells  us  that  we 
should  always  act  with  a  view  to  the  way  others 
will  be  affected  by  it.  We  must  treat  men  as  men, 
not  as  things.  This  sympathy  and  appreciation  for 
another  is  the  first  step  in  love.  If  we  think  of  our 
neighbor  as  he  thinks  of  himself  we  cannot  help 
wishing  him  well.  As  Professor  Royce  says, "  If  he 
is  real  like  thee,  then  is  his  life  as  bright  a  light,  as 
warm  a  fire,  to  him,  as  thine  to  thee ;  his  will  is  as 
full  of  struggling  desires,  of  hard  problems,  of  fate- 
ful decisions ;  his  pains  are  as  hateful,  his  joys  as 
dear.  Take  whatever  thou  knowest  of  desire  and 
of  striving,  of  burning  love  and  of  fierce  hatred, 
realize  as  fully  as  thou  canst  what  that  means,  and 
then  with  clear  certainty  add  :  Such  as  that  is  for 
me,  so  it  is  for  him,  nothing  less.  Then  thou  hast 
known  what  he  truly  is,  a  Self  like  thy  present 
self." 

The  Golden  Rule,  Do  unto  others  as  you  would 
that  they  should  do  unto  you,  is  the  best  summary 
of  duty.  And  the  keeping  of  that  rule  is  possible 
only  in  so  far  as  we  love  others.  We  must  put  our- 
selves in  their  place,  before  we  can  know  how  to 
treat  them  as  we  would  like  to  be  treated.  And 
this  putting  self  in  the  place  of  another  is  the  very 
essence  of  love.  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as 
thyself  includes  all  social  law.  Love  is  the  fulfill- 
ing of  the  law. 

Love  takes   different  forms   in  different   circum- 


1 08  FELL  0  W-MEN. 

stances  and  in  different  relations.  To  the  hungry- 
love  gives  food  ;  to  the  thirsty  drink;  to  the  naked 
clothes  ;  to  the  sick  nursing  ;  to  the  ignorant  in- 
struction ;  to  the  blind  guidance  ;  to  the  erring  re- 
proof;  to  the  penitent  forgiveness.  Indeed,  the  so- 
cial virtues  which  will  occupy  the  remainder  of  this 
book  are  simply  applications  of  love  in  differing  rela- 
tions and  toward  different  groups  and  institutions. 

THE  REWARD. 

Love  the  only  true  bond  of  union  between  per- 
sons.— The  desire  to  be  in  unity  with  our  fellow- 
men  is,  as  John  Stuart  Mill  tells  us,  "already  a 
powerful  principle  in  human  nature,  and  happily  one 
of  those  which  tend  to  become  more  strong,  even 
without  express  inculcation,  from  the  influences  of 
advancing  civilization.  The  deeply  rooted  concep- 
tion which  every  individual  even  now  has  of  him- 
self as  a  social  being,  tends  to  make  him  feel  it  one 
of  his  natural  wants  that  there  should  be  harmony 
between  his  feelings  and  aims  and  those  of  his  fel- 
low-creatures." The  life  of  love  is  in  itself  a  constant 
realization  of  this  deepest  and  strongest  desire  of 
our  nature.  Love  is  the  essence  of  social  and  spirit- 
ual life  ;  and  that  life  of  unity  with  our  fellow-mxcn 
which  love  creates  is  in  itself  love's  own  reward. 
'*Life  is  energy  of  love."  Oneness  with  those  we 
love  is  the  only  goal  in  which  love  could  rest  satis- 
fied. For  love  is  ''  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world," 
and  any  reward  other  than  union  with  its  object 
would  be  a  loss  rather  than  a  gain. 


THE    TEMPTATION.  1 09 


THE  TEMPTATION. 


Kant  remarks  that  a  dove,  realizing  that  the 
resistance  of  the  air  is  the  sole  obstacle  to  its 
progress,  might  imagine  that  if  it  could  only  get 
away  from  the  air  altogether,  it  would  fly  with 
infinite  rapidity  and  ease. — But  in  fact,  if  the  air 
were  withdrawn  for  an  instant  it  would  fall  helpless 
to  the  ground.  Friction  is  the  only  thing  the  loco- 
motive has  to  overcome.  And  if  the  locomotive 
could  reason  it  might  think  how  fast  it  could  travel 
if  only  friction  were  removed.  But  without  friction 
the  locomotive  could  not  stir  a  hair's  breadth  from 
the  station. 

In  like  manner,  inasmuch  as  the  greater  part  of  our 
annoyances  and  trials  and  sufferings  come  from  con- 
tact with  our  fellow-men,  it  often  seems  to  us  that 
if  we  could  only  get  away  from  them  altogether, 
and  live  in  utter  indifference  to  them,  our  lives 
would  move  on  with  utmost  smoothness  and  serenity. 
In  fact,  if  these  relations  were  withdrawn,  if  we  could 
attain  to  perfect  indifference  to  our  fellows,  our  life 
as  human  and  spiritual  beings  would  that  instant 
cease. 

The  temptation  to  treat  our  fellow-men  with  in- 
difference, like  all  temptations,  is  a  delusion  and 
leads  to  our  destruction.  Yet  it  is  a  very  strong 
temptation  to  us  all  at  times.  When  people  do  not 
appreciate  us,  and  do  not  treat  us  with  due  kindness 
and  consideration,  it  is  so  easy  to  draw  into  our 
shell  and  say,  "  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  them  or  their 


no  FELLOW-MEN. 

good  opinion  anyway."  This  device  is  an  old  one. 
The  Stoics  made  much  of  it ;  and  boasted  of  the 
completeness  of  their  indifference.  But  it  is  essen- 
tially weak  and  cowardly.  It  avoids  certain  evils,  to 
be  sure.  It  does  so,  however,  not  by  overcoming 
them  in  brave,  manly  fashion  ;  but  by  running  and 
hiding  away  from  them — an  easy  and  a  disgraceful 
thing  to  do.  Intimate  fellowship  and  close  contact 
with  others  does  bring  pains  as  well  as  pleasures.  It 
is  the  condition  of  completeness  and  fullness  of  moral 
and  spiritual  life;  and  the  man  who  will  live  at  his  best 
must  accept  these  pains  with  courage  and  resolution. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

The  outcome  of  indifference  and  lack  of  sym- 
pathy and  fellowship  is  selfishness. — Unless  we 
first  feel  another's  interests  as  he  feels  them,  we 
cannot  help  being  more  interested  in  our  own  affairs 
than  we  are  in  his,  and  consequently  sacrificing  his 
interests  to  our  own  when  the  two  conflict.  As 
George  Eliot  tells  us  in  ''Adam  Bede,"  ** Without 
this  fellow-feeling,  how  are  we  to  get  enough  patience 
and  charity  toward  our  stumbling,  falling  compan- 
ions in  the  long,  changeful  journey?  And  there  is 
but  one  way  in  which  a  strong,  determined  soul  can 
learn  it,  by  getting  his  heart-strings  bound  round 
the  weak  and  erring,  so  that  he  must  share  not  only 
the  outward  consequence  of  their  error,  but  their 
inward  suffering.     That  is  a  long  and  hard  lesson." 

It  is  impossible  to  overcome  selfishness  di- 
rectly.— As    long    as   our    poor,  private   interests 


THE  VICE   OF  DEFECT.  ill 

are  the  only  objects  vividly  present  to  our  im- 
agination and  feeling,  we  must  be  selfish.  The  only 
remedy  is  the  indirect  one  of  entering  into  fellow- 
ship with  others,  interesting  ourselves  in  what  inter- 
ests them,  sharing  their  joys  and  sorrows,  their 
hopes  and  fears.  When  we  have  done  that,  then 
there  is  something  besides  our  petty  and  narrow 
personal  interests  before  our  minds  and  thoughts  ; 
and  so  we  are  in  a  way  to  get  something  besides 
mean  and  selfish  actions  from  our  wills  and  hands. 
We  act  out  what  is  in  us.  If  there  is  nothing  but 
ourselves  present  to  our  thoughts,  we  shall  be  sel- 
fish of  necessity  ;  and  without  even  knowing  that  we 
are  selfish.  If  our  thoughts  and  feelings  are  full  of 
the  welfare  and  interests  of  others  we  shall  do  lov- 
ing and  unselfish  deeds,  without  ever  stopping  to 
think  that  they  are  loving  and  unselfish.  Hence 
the  precept,  "  Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence,  for 
out  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life."  A  heart  and  mind 
full  of  sympathy  and  fellow-feeling  is  the  secret  of 
a  loving  life  ;  and  an  idle  mind  and  an  empty  heart, 
to  which  no  thrill  of  sympathy  with  others  is  ever 
admitted,  is  the  barren  and  desolate  region  from 
which  loveless  looks  and  cruel  words  and  selfish 
deeds  come  forth. 

Love  is  not  a  virtue  which  we  can  cultivate  in 
ourselves  by  direct  effort  of  will,  and  then  take 
credit  for  afterward. — Love  comes  to  us  of  itself ; 
it  springs  up  spontaneously  within  our  breasts.  We 
can  prepare  our  hearts  for  its  entrance  ;  we  can  wel- 
come and  cherish  it   when  it   comes.     We   cannot 


112  FELLOW-MEN. 

boast  of  it,  for  we  could  not  help  it.  Love  is  the 
welling  up  within  us  of  our  true  social  nature ; 
which  nothing  but  our  indifference  and  lack  of 
sympathy  could  have  kept  so  long  repressed. 
**  Love  vaunteth  not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  doth 
not  behave  itself  unseemly,  seeketh  not  its  own." 
Love  "  seeketh  not  its  own  "  because  it  has  no  own 
to  seek. 

Selfishness  on  the  contrary  knows  all  about 
itself;  has  a  good  opinion  of  itself;  never  gets 
its  own  interests  mixed  up  with  those  of  anybody 
else  ;  can  always  give  a  perfectly  satisfactory 
account  of  itself. 

Hence  wlien  we  know  exactly  how  we  came  to  do 
a  thing,  and  appreciate  keenly  how  good  it  was  of 
us  to  do  it  ;  and  think  how  very  much  obliged  the 
other  person  ought  to  be  to  us  for  doing  it,  we  may 
be  pretty  sure  that  it  was  not  love,  but  some  more 
or  less  subtle  form  of  selfishness  that  prompted  it. 
Love  and  selfishness  may  do  precisely  the  same 
things.  Under  the  influence  of  either  love  or  sel- 
fishness I  may  ''bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed  the 
poor  and  give  my  body  to  be  burned,"  but  love 
alone  profiteth  ;  while  all  the  subtle  forms  of  selfish- 
ness and  self-seeking  are  "  sounding  brass  and 
clanging  cymbal."  Selfishness,  even  when  it  does  a 
service,  has  its  eye  on  its  own  merit,  or  the  reward 
it  is  to  gain.  In  so  doing  it  forfeits  merit  and 
reward  both.  Selfishness  never  succeeds  in  getting 
outside  of  itself.  From  all  the  joys  and  graces  of 
the  social  life  it  remains  in  perpetual  banishment. 


THE   VICE   OF  EXCESS.  113 

Love  loses  itself  in  the  object  loved,  and  so  finds  a 
larger  and  better  self.  Selfishness  tries  to  use  the 
object  of  its  so-called  love  as  a  means  to  its  own 
gratification,  and  so  remains  to  the  end  in  loveless 
isolation.  Many  manifestations  of  selfishness  look 
very  much  like  love.  To  know  the  real  difference 
is  the  most  fundamental  moral  insight.  On  it  de- 
pend the  issues  of  life  and  death. 

THE   VICE    OF   EXCESS. 

The  most  flagrant  mockery  of  love  is  senti- 
mentality.— The  sentimentalist  is  on  hand  where- 
ever  there  is  a  chance  either  to  mourn  or  to  rejoice. 
^^  is  never  so  happy  as  when  he  is  pouring  forth  a 
gush  of  feeling;  and  it  matters  little  whether  it  be 
laughter  or  tears,  sorrow  or  joy,  to  which  he  is  per- 
mitted to  give  vent.  On  the  surface  he  seems  to  be 
overflowing  with  the  milk  of  human  kindness.  He 
strikes  us  at  first  sight  as  the  very  incarnation  of 
tenderness  and  love. 

And  yet  we  soon  discover  that  he  cares  nothing 
for  us,  or  for  our  joys  and  sorrows  in  themselves. 
Anybody  else,  or  any  other  occasion,  would  serve 
his  purpose  as  well,  and  call  forth  an  equal  copious- 
ness of  sympathy  and  tears.  Indeed  a  first  rate  novel, 
with  its  suffering  heroine,  or  a  good  play  with  its 
pathetic  scenes,  would  answer  his  purpose  quite  as 
well  as  any  living  person  or  actual  situation.  What 
he  cares  for  is  the  thrill  of  emotional  excitement 
and  the  ravishing  sensation  which  accompanies  all 
deep  and  tender  feeling.      Not  love,  but  love's  de- 


114  FELLOW-MEN. 

lights  ;  not  sympathy,  but  the  rapture  of  the  sym- 
pathetic mood  ;  not  helpfulness,  but  the  sense  of 
self-importance  which  comes  from  being  around 
when  great  trials  are  to  be  met  and  fateful  decisions 
are  to  be  made  ;  not  devotion  to  others,  but  the 
complacency  with  self  which  intimate  connection 
with  others  gives:  these  are  the  objects  at  which 
the  sentimentalist  really  aims. 

The  sentimentalist  makes  himself  a  nuisance 
to  others  and  soon  becomes  disgusted  with  him- 
self.— He  cannot  be  relied  upon  for  any  serious 
service,  for  this  gush  of  sentimental  feeling  is  a  trans- 
ient and  fluctuating  thing  ;  it  gives  out  just  as  soon 
as  it  meets  with  difficulty  and  occasion  for  self-sacri- 
fice. And  this  attempt  to  live  forever  on  the  top- 
most wave  of  emotional  excitement  defeats  itself 
by  the  satiety  and  ennui  which  it  brings.  Whether 
in  courtship,  or  society,  or  business,  it  behooves 
us  to  be  on  our  guard  against  this  insidious  sham 
which  cloaks  selfishness  in  protestations  of  af- 
fection ;  pays  compliments  to  show  off  its  own 
ability  to  say  pretty  things  ;  and  undertakes  respon- 
sibilities to  make  the  impression  of  being  of  some 
consequence  in  the  world.  The  man  or  woman 
is  extremely  fortunate  who  has  never  fallen  a 
victim  to  this  hollow  mockery  of  love,  either  in 
self  or  others.  The  worst  effect  of  sentimentality  is 
that  when  we  have  detected  it  a  few  times,  either  in 
ourselves  or  in. others,  we  are  tempted  to  conclude 
that  fellowship  itself  is  a  farce,  love  a  delusion,  and 
all  sympathy  and  tenderness  a  weakness  and  a  sham. 


THE  PENALTY.  115 

Every  good  thing  has  its  counterfeit.  By  all  means 
let  this  counterfeit  be  driven  from  circulation  as  fast 
as  possible.  But  let  us  not  lose  faith  in  human  fellow- 
ship and  human  love  because  this  base  imitation  is 
so  hollow  and  disgusting: 

For  life,  with  all  it  yields  of  joy  and  woe, 
And  hope  and  fear, — believe  the  aged  friend, — 
Is  just  our  chance  o'  the  prize  of  learning  love, 
How  love  might  be,  hath  been  indeed,  and  is  ; 
And  that  we  hold  thenceforth  to  the  uttermost 
Such  prize  despite  the  envy  of  the  world, 
And  having  gained  truth,  keep  truth,  that  is  all. 

THE  PENALTY. 

The  penalty  of  selfishness  is  strife.— The  selfish 
man  can  neither  leave  men  entirely  alone,  nor  can  he 
live  at  peace  and  in  unity  with  them.  Hence  come 
strife  and  division.  Being  unwilling  to  make  the 
interests  of  others  his  own,  the  selfish  man's  interests 
must  clash  with  the  interests  of  others.  His  hand  is 
against  every  man  ;  and  every  man's  hand,  unless  it  is 
stayed  by  generosity  and  pity,  is  against  him.  This 
clashing  of  outside  interests  is  reflected  in  his  own  con- 
sciousness ;  and  the  war  of  his  generous  impulses 
with  his  selfish  instincts  makes  his  own  breast  a  per- 
petual battlefield.  The  lack  of  harmony  with  his 
fellows  in  the  outward  world  makes  peace  within  his 
own  soul  impossible.  The  selfish  man,  by  cutting 
himself  off  from  his  true  relations  with  his  fellow-men, 
cuts  up  the  roots  of  the  only  principles  which  could 
give  to  his  own  life  dignity  and  harmony  and  peace. 


Ii6  FELLOW-MEN. 

Selfishness  defeats  itself.  By  refusing  to  go  out  of 
self  into  the  lives  of  others,  the  selfish  man  renders 
it  impossible  for  the  great  life  of  human  sympathy 
and  fellowship  and  love  to  enter  his  own  life,  and  fill 
it  with  its  own  largeness  and  sweetness  and  serenity. 
The  selfish  man  remains  to  the  last  an  alien,  an  out- 
cast and  an  enemy,  banished  from  all  that  is- best  in 
the  life  of  his  fellows  by  the  insuperable  obstacle  of 
his  own  unwillingness  to  be  one  with  them  in  mutual 
helpfulness  and  service. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Ube  poor. 

Our  fellow-men  are  so  numerous  and  their  con- 
ditions are  so  diverse  that  it  is  necessary  to  consider 
some  of  the  classes  and  conditions  of  men  by  them- 
selves ;  and  to  study  some  of  the  special  forms  which 
fellowship  and  love  assume  under  these  differing 
circumstances. 

Of  these  classes  or  divisions  in  which  we  may 
group  our  fellow-men,  the  one  having  the  first  claim 
upon  us  by  virtue  of  its  greater  need  is  the  poor. 
The  causes  of  poverty  are  accident,  sickness,  in- 
ability to  secure  work,  laziness,  improvidence,  in- 
temperance, ignorance,  and  shiftlessness.  Those 
whose  poverty  is  due  to  the  first  three  causes  are 
commonly  called  the  worthy  poor. 

THE  DUTY. 

Whether  worthy  or  unworthy,  the  poor  are 
our  brothers  and  sisters ;  and  on  the  ground  of 
our  common  humanity  we  owe  them  our  help 
and  sympathy. — It  is- easier  to  sympathize  with  the 
worthy  than  with  the  unworthy  poor.  Yet  the  poor 
who  are  poor  as  the  result  of  their  own  fault  are 
really  the  more  in  need  of  our  pity  and  help.  The 
work  of  lifting  them  up  to  the  level  of  self-respect 

117 


Il8  THE  POOR. 

and  self-support  is  much  harder  than  the  mere  giv- 
ing them  material  relief.  Yet  nothing  less  than' 
this  is  our  duty.  The  mere  tossing  of  pennies  to 
the  tramp  and  the  beggar  is  not  by  any  means  the 
fulfillment  of  their  claim  upon  us.  Indeed,  such  in- 
discriminate giving  does  more  harm  than  good.  It 
increases  rather  than  relieves  pauperism.  So  that 
the  first  duty  of  charity  is  to  refuse  to  give  in  this 
indiscriminate  way.  Either  we  must  give  more  than 
food  and  clothes  and  money ;  or  else  we  must  give 
nothing  at  all.  Indiscriminate  giving  merely  adds 
fuel  to  the  flame. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

The  special  form  which  love  takes  when  its 
object  is  the  poor  is  called  benevolence  or 
charity. — True  benevolence,  like  love,  of  which  it  is 
a  special  application,  makes  the  well-being  of  its 
object  its  own.  In  what  then  does  the  well-being 
of  the  poor  consist  ?  Is  it  bread  and  beef,  a  coat  on 
the  back,  a  roof  over  the  head,  and  a  bed  to  sleep 
in  ?  These  are  conditions  of  well-being,  but  not  the 
whole  of  it.  A  man  cannot  be  well  ofT  without  these 
things.  But  it  is  by  no  means  sure  that  he  will  be 
well  off  with  them. 

What  a  man  thinks;  how  he  feels;  what  he  loves; 
what  he  hopes  for ;  what  he  is  trying  to  do  ;  what  he 
means  to  be ; — these  are  quite  as  essential  elements  in 
his  well-being  as  what  he  has  to  eat  and  wear.  True 
benevolence  therefore  must  include  these  things  in 
its  efforts.     Benevolence  must  aim  to  improve  the 


THE    VIRTUE.  119 

man  together  with  his  condition  or  its  gifts  will  be 
worse  than  wasted. 

There  are  three  principles  which  all  wise  benevol- 
ence must  observe. 

First :  Know  all  that  can  be  known  about  the 
man  you  help. — Unless  we  are  willing  to  find  out 
all  we  can  about  a  poor  man,  we  have  no  business 
to  indulge  our  sympathy  or  ease  our  conscience  by 
giving  him  money  or  food.  It  is  often  easier  to 
give  than  to  withhold.  But  it  is  far  more  harmful. 
When  Bishop  Potter  says  that  *'  It  is  far  better,— 
better  for  him  and  better  for  us, — to  give  a  beggar 
a  kick  than  to  give  him  a  half-dollar,"  it  sounds 
like  a  hard  saying,  yet  it  is  the  strict  truth.  In  a 
civilized  and  Christian  community  any  really  de- 
serving person  can  secure  assistance  through  per- 
sons or  agencies  that  either  know  about  his  needs, 
or  will  take  the  trouble  to  look  them  up.  When  a 
stranger  begs  from  strangers  he  thereby  confesses 
that  he  prefers  to  present  his  claims  where  their 
merits  are  unknown  ;  and  the  act  proclaims  him  as  a 
fraud.  To  the  beggar,  to  ourselves,  and  to  the  really 
deserving  poor,  we  owe  a  prompt  and  stern  refusal 
of  all  uninvestigated  appeals  for  charity.  ''True 
charity  never  opens  the  heart  without  at  the  same 
time  opening  the  mind." 

The  second  principle  is :  Let  the  man  you  help 
know  as  much  as  he  can  of  you. — Bureaus  and 
societies  are  indispensable  aids  to  effective  benevol- 
ence ;  without  their  aid  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  needs  and  merits  of  the  ooor  would  be  impossi^ 


120  THE  POOR. 

ble.  Their  function,  however,  sliould  be  to  direct 
and  superintend,  not  to  dispense  with  and  supplant 
direct  personal  contact  between  giver  and  receiver. 
The  recipient  of  aid  should  know  the  one  who  helps 
him  as  man  or  woman,  not  as  secretary  or  agent.  If 
all  the  money,  food,  and  clothing  necessary  to  relieve 
the  wants  of  the  poor  could  be  deposited  at  their  fire- 
sides regularly  each  Christmas  by  Santa  Claus,  such 
a  Christmas  present,  with  the  regular  expectation  of 
its  repetition  each  year,  would  do  these  poor  families 
more  harm  than  good.  It  might  make  them  tem- 
porarily more  comfortable  ;  it  would  make  them 
permanently  less  industrious,  thrifty,  and  self-reliant. 

Investigations  have  proved  conclusively  that  half 
the  persons  who  are  in  want  in  our  cities  need  no 
help  at  all,  except  help  in  finding  work.  One-sixth 
are  unworthy  of  any  material  assistance  whatever, 
since  they  would  spend  it  immediately  on  their 
vices.  One-fifth  need  only  temporary  help  and  en- 
couragement to  get  over  hard  places.  Only  about 
one-tenth  need  permanent  assistance. 

On  the  other  hand  all  need  cheer,  comfort,  advice, 
sympathy,  and  encouragement,  or  else  reproof,  warn- 
ing, and  restraint.  They  all  need  kind,  firm,  wise, 
judicious  friends.  The  less  professionalism,  the 
more  personal  sympathy  and  friendliness  there  is  in 
our  benevolence,  the  better  it  will  be.  In  the  words 
of  Octavia  Hill :  "  It  is  the  families,  the  homes  of  the 
poor  that  need  to  be  influenced.  Is  not  she  most 
sympathetic,  most  powerful,  who  nursed  her  own 
mother  through  her  long  illness,  and  knew  how  to 


THE    VIRTUE.  I2I 

go  quietly  through  the  darkened  room  :  who  entered 
so  heartily  into  her  sister's  marriage  :  who  obeyed 
so  heartily  her  father's  command  when  it  was  hard- 
est ?  Better  still  if  she  be  wife  and  mother  herself 
and  can  enter  into  the  responsibilities  of  a  head  of 
a  household,  understands  her  joys  and  cares,  knows 
what  heroic  patience  it  needs  to  keep  gentle  when 
the  nerves  are  unhinged  and  the  children  noisy. 
Depend  upon  it  if  we  thought  of  the  poor  primarily 
as  husbands,  wives,  sons,  daughters,  members  of 
households  as  we  are  ourselves,  instead  of  contem- 
plating them  as  a  different  class,  we  should  recog- 
nize better  how  the  home  training  and  the  high 
ideal  of  home  duty  was  our  best  preparation  for 
work  among  them." 

The  third  principle  is  :  Give  the  man  you  help 
no  more  and  no  less  than  he  needs  to  make  his 
life  what  you  and  he  together  see  that  it  is  good 
for  it  to  be. — This  principle  shows  how  much  to 
give.  Will  ten  cents  serve  as  an  excuse  for  idle- 
ness ?  Will  five  cents  be  spent  in  drink?  Will  one 
cent  relax  his  determination  to  earn  an  honest  living 
for  himself  and  family  ?  Then  these  sums  are  too 
much,  and  should  be  withheld.  On  the  other  hand, 
can  the  man  be  made  hopeful,  resolute,  determined 
to  overcome  the  difficulties  of  a  trying  situation  ? 
Can  you  impart  to  him  your  own  strong  will,  your 
steadfast  courage,  your  high  ideal?  is  he  ready  to 
work,  and  willing  to  make  any  sacrifice  that  is  nec- 
essary to  regain  the  power  of  self-support?  Then 
you  will  not  count  any  sum  that  you  can  afford  to 


122  THE  POOR. 

give  too  great ;  even  if  it  be  necessary  to  carry  him 
and  his  family  right  through  a  winter  by  sheer 
force  of  giving  outright  everything  they  need. 

It  is  not  the  amount  of  the  gift,  but  the  spirit  in 
which  it  is  received  that  makes  it  good  or  bad  for 
the  recipient.  If  received  by  a  man  who  chngsto  all 
the  weakness  and  wickedness  that  brought  his  poverty 
upon  him,  then  your  gift,  whether  small  or  large,  does 
no  good  and  much  harm.  If  with  the  gift  the  man 
welcomes  your  counsel,  follows  your  advice,  adopts 
your  ideal,  and  becomes  partaker  in  your  determina- 
tion that  he  shall  become  as  industrious,  and  prudent, 
and  courageous  as  a  man  in  his  situation  can  be, 
then  whether  you  give  him  little  or  much  material 
assistance,  every  cent  of  it  goes  to  the  highest  work 
in  which  wealth  can  be  employed — the  making  a 
man  more  manlike. 

THE  REWARD, 

Our  attitude  toward  the  poor  and  unfortunate 
is  the  test  of  our  attitude  toward  humanity.— 

For  the  poor  and  unfortunate  present  humanity  to 
us  in  the  condition  which  most  strongly  appeals  to 
our  fellow-feeling.  The  way  in  which  I  treat  this 
poor  man  who  happens  to  cross  my  path,  is  the  way 
I  should  treat  my  dearest  friend,  if  he  were  equally 
poor  and  unfortunate,  and  equally  remote  from  per- 
sonal association  with  my  past  life.  The  man  who 
will  let  a  single  poor  family  suffer,  when  he  is  able 
to  afford  relief,  is  capable  of  being  false  to  the  whole 
human  race.     Speaking  in  the  name  of  our  common 


THE    TEMPTATION.  .  123 

humanity,  the  Son  of  Man  declares,  "  Inasmuch  as 
ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  my 
brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  Sympathy 
'*  doubles  our  joys  and  halves  our  sorrows."  It  in- 
creases our  range  of  interest  and  affection,  making 
"  the  world  one  fair  moral  whole  "  in  which  we  share 
the  joys  and  sorrows  of  our  brothers. 

The  man  who  sympathizes  with  the  sufferings 
of  others  seeks  and  finds  the  sympathy  of  others 
in  his  own  losses  and  trials  when  they  come. — 
Familiarity  and  sympathy  with  the  sufferings  of 
others  strengthens  us  to  bear  suffering  when  it  comes 
to  us :  for  we  are  able  to  see  that  it  is  no  unusual 
and  exceptional  evil  falling  upon  us  alone,  but  accept 
it  as  an  old  and  familiar  acquaintance,  whom  we 
have  so  often  met  in  other  lives  that  we  do  not 
fear  his  presence  in  our  own. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

"Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?" — We  are  com- 
fortable and  well  cared  for.  We  are  earning  our 
own  living.  We  pay  our  debts.  We  work  hard  for 
what  we  get.  Why  should  we  not  enjoy  ourselves? 
Why  should  I  share  my  earnings  with  the  shiftless 
vagabond,  the  good-for-nothing  loafer?  What  is  he 
to  me?  In  one  or  another  of  these  forms  the  mur- 
derous question  '*  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?"  is 
sure  to  rise  to  our  lips  when  the  needs  of  the  poor 
call  for  our  assistance  and  relief.  Or  if  we  do  recog- 
nize the  claim,  we  are  tempted  to  hide  behind  some 
organization  ;  giving  our  money  to  that ;  and  send- 


124  THE  POOR. 

ing  it  to  do  the  actual  work.  We  do  not  like  to  come 
into  the  real  presence  of  suffering  and  want.  We 
do  not  want  to  visit  the  poor  man  in  his  tenement  ; 
and  clasp  his  hand,  and  listen  with  our  own  ears  to 
the  tale  of  wretchedness  and  woe  as  it  falls  directly 
from  his  lips.  We  do  not  care  to  take  the  heavy 
and  oppressive  burden  of  his  life's  problem  upon 
our  own  minds  and  hearts.  We  wish  him  well. 
But  we  do  not  will  his  betterment  strongly  and 
earnestly  enough  to  take  us  to  his  side,  and  join 
our  hands  with  his  in  lifting  off  the  weight  that 
keeps  him  down.  Alienation,  the  desire  to  hold 
ourselves  aloof  from  the  real  wretchedness  of  our 
brother,  is  our  great  temptation  with  reference  to 
the  poor. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

The  reluctant  doling  out  of  insufficient  aid  to 
the  poor  is  nig-gardliness. — The  niggard  is  think- 
ing all  the  time  of  himself,  and  how  he  hates  to 
part  with  what  belongs  to  him.  He  gives  as  little 
as  he  can  ;  and  that  little  hurts  him  terribly.  This 
vice  cannot  be  overcome  directly.  It  is  a  phase  of 
selfishness ;  and  like  all  forms  of  selfishness  it  can 
be  cured  only  by  getting  out  of  self  into  another's 
life.  By  going  among  the  poor,  studying  their 
needs,  realizing  their  sufferings,  we  may  be  drawn 
out  of  our  niggardliness  and  find  a  pleasure  in  giv- 
ing which  we  could  never  have  cultivated  by  direct 
efforts  of  will.  We  cannot  make  ourselves  benevo- 
lent   by   making   up    our   minds   that   we   will   be 


THE   VICE   OP  EXCESS.  ti$ 

benevolent.  Like  all  forms  of  love,  benevolence  can- 
not be  forced  ;  but  it  will  come  of  itself  if  we  give 
its  appropriate  objects  a  large  share  of  our  thoughts 
and  a  warm  place   in  our  hearts. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Regard  for  others  as  they  happen  to  be,  instead 
of  regard  for  w'nat  they  are  capable  of  becoming, 
leads  to  soft  hearted  and  mischievous  indulgence. 

— The  indulgent  giver  sees  the  fact  of  suffering  and 
rushes  to  its  relief,  without  stopping  to  inquire  in- 
to the  cause  of  the  poverty  and  the  best  measures 
of  relief.  Indulgence  fails  to  see  the  ideal  of  what 
the  poor  man  is  to  become.  Indulgence  does  not 
look  beyond  the  immediate  fact  of  poverty  ;  and 
consequently  the  indulgent  giver  does  nothing  to 
lift  the  poor  man  out  of  it.  Help  in  poverty, 
rather  than  help  out  of  poverty,  is  what  indulgent 
giving  amounts  to.  The  indulgent  and  indiscrimi- 
nate giver  becomes  a  partner  in  the  production  of 
poverty.  This  indulgent  giving  is  a  phase  of  senti- 
mentality ;  and  the  relief  of  one's  own  feelings, 
rather  than  the  real  good  of  a  fellow-man  is  at  the 
root  of  all  such  mischievous  almsgiving.  It  is  the 
form  of  benevolence  without  the  substance.  It 
does  too  much  for  the  poor  man  just  because  it 
loves  him  too  little.  Indulgence  measures  benefac- 
tions, not  by  the  needs  and  capacities  of  the  re- 
ceiver, but  by  the  sensibilities  and  emotions  of  the 
giver.  What  wonder  that  it  always  goes  astray, 
and  does  harm  under  the  guise  of  doing  good  ! 


126  THE  POOR. 

THE    PENALTY. 

Uncharitable  treatment  of  the  poor  makes  us 
alien  to  humanity,  and  distrustful  of  human 
nature. — We  feel  that  they  have  a  claim  upon  us 
that  we  have  not  fulfilled  ;  and  we  try  to  push  them 
off  beyond  the  range  of  our  sympathy.  They  are 
not  slow  to  take  the  hint.  They  interpret  our  harsh 
tones  and  our  cold  looks,  and  they  look  to  us  for 
help  no  more.  But  in  pushing  these  poor  ones 
beyond  our  reach,  we  unconsciously  acquire  hard, 
unsympathetic  ways  of  thinking,  feeling,  speak- 
ing and  acting,  which  others  not  so  poor,  others 
whom  we  would  gladly  have  near  us,  also  interpret ; 
and  they  too  come  to  understand  that  there  is  no 
real  kindness  and  helpfulness  to  be  had  from  us  in 
time  of  real  need,  and  they  keep  their  inmost  selves 
apart,  and  suffer  us  to  touch  them  only  on  the  sur. 
face  of  their  lives.  When  trouble  comes  to  us  we 
instinctively  feel  that  we  have  no  claim  on  the  sym- 
pathy of  others ;  and  so  we  have  to  bear  our  griefs 
alone.  Having  never  suffered  with  others,  sorrow  is 
a  stranger  to  us,  and  we  think  we  are  the  most  miser- 
able creatures  in  the  world. 

Humanity  is  one.  Action  and  reaction  are  equal. 
Our  treatment  of  the  poorest  of  our  fellows  is 
potentially  our  treatment  of  them  all.  And  by  a 
subtle  law  of  compensation,  which  runs  deeper  than 
our  own  consciousness,  what  our  attitude  is  toward 
our  fellows  determines  their  attitude  toward  us. 
"Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  to  one  of  the  least  of 
these  my  brethren,'*  says  the  Representative  of  our 
common  humanity,  ''  ye  did  it  not  unto  me." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Another  class  of  our  fellow-men  whom  it  is 
especially  hard  to  love  are  those  who  willfully  do 
wrong.  The  men  who  cheat  us,  and  say  hateful 
things  to  us  ;  the  men  who  abuse  their  wives  and 
neglect  their  families ;  the  men  who  grind  the  faces 
of  the  poor,  and  contrive  to  live  in  ease  and  luxury 
on  the  earnings  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan  ;  the 
men  who  pervert  justice  and  corrupt  legislation  in 
order  to  make  money  ;  these  and  all  wrongdoers  ex- 
asperate us,  and  rouse  our  righteous  indignation.  Yet 
they  are  our  fellow-men.  We  meet  them  everywhere. 
We  suffer  for  their  misdeeds; — and,  what  is  worse, 
we  have  to  see  others,  weaker  and  more  helpless  than 
ourselves,  maltreated,  plundered,  and  beaten  by  these 
wretches  and  villains.  Wrongdoing  is  a  great,  hard, 
terrible  fact.  We  must  face  it.  We  must  have 
some  clear  and  consistent  principles  of  action  with 
reference  to  these  wrongdoers ;  or  else  our  wrath 
and  indignation  will  betray  us  into  the  futile  attempt 
to  right  one  wrong  by  another  wrong;  and  so  drag 
us  down  to  the  level  of  the  wrongdoers  against 
whom  we  contend. 

127 


128  WRONGDOERS. 


THE  DUTY. 


The  first  thing  we  owe  to  the  wrongdoer  is 
to  give  him  his  just  deserts.  Wrongdoing 
always  hurts  somebody.  Justice  demands  that 
it  shall  hurt  the  wrongdoer  himself.— The  boy 
who  tells  a  lie  treats  us  as  if  we  did  not  belong  to 
the  same  society,  and  have  the  same  claim  on  truth 
that  he  has.  We  must  make  him  feel  that  we  do 
not  consider  him  fit  to  be  on  a  level  with  us.  We 
must  make  him  ashamed  of  himself.  The  man  who 
cheats  us  shows  that  he  is  willing  to  sacrifice  our  in- 
terests to  his.  We  must  show  him  that  we  will  have 
no  dealings  with  such  a  person.  The  man  who  is 
mean  and  stingy  shows  that  he  cares  nothing  for  us. 
We  must  show  him  that  we  despise  his  miserliness 
and  meanness.  The  robber  and  the  murderer  show 
that  they  are  enemies  to  society.  Society  must 
exclude  them  from  its  privileges. 

It  is  the  function  of  punishment  to  bring  the 
offender  to  a  realizing  sense  of  the  nature  of  his 
deed,  by  making  him  suffer  the  natural  conse- 
quences of  it,  or  an  equivalent  am.ount  of  pri- 
vation, in  his  own  person.  Punishment  is  a  favor 
to  the  wrongdoer,  just  as  bitter  medicine  is  a  favor 
to  the  sick.  For  without  it,  he  would  not  appreciate 
the  evil  of  his  wrongdoing  with  sufficient  force 
to  repent  of  it,  and  abandon  it.  Plato  teaches  the 
true  value  of  punishment  in  the  "  Gorgias."  '*  The 
doing  of  wrong  is  the  greatest  of  evils.  To  suffer 
punishment  is  the  way  to  be  released  from  this  evil. 


THE  DUTY.  129 

Not  to  suffer  is  to  perpetuate  the  evil.  To  do 
wrong,  then,  is  second  only  in  the  scale  of  evils ; 
but  to  do  wrong  and  not  to  be  punished,  is  first  and 
greatest  of  all.  He  who  has  done  wrong  and  has 
not  been  punished,  is  and  ought  to  be  the  most 
miserable  of  all  men  ;  the  doer  of  wrong  is  more 
miserable  than  the  sufferer ;  and  he  who  escapes 
punishment  more  miserable  than  he  who  suffers 
punishment." 

Punishment  is  the  best  thing  we  can  do  for 
one  who  has  done  wrong.— Punishment  is  not  a 
good  in  itself.  But  it  is  good  relatively  to  the 
wrongdoer.  It  is  the  only  way  out  of  wrong  into 
right.  Punishment  need  not  be  brutal  or  degrad- 
ing. The  most  effectual  punishment  is  often  purely 
mental ;  consisting  in  the  sense  of  shame  and  sorrow 
which  the  off'ender  is  made  to  feel.  In  some  form 
or  other  every  wrongdoer  should  be  made  to  feel 
painfully  the  wrongness  of  his  deed.  To  "  spare  the 
rod,"  both  literally  and  metaphorically,  is  to  "  spoil 
the  child."  The  duty  of  inflicting  punishment,  like 
all  duty,  is  often  hard  and  unwelcome.  But  we 
become  partakers  in  every  wrong  which  we  suffer 
to  go  unpunished  and  unrebuked  when  punishment 
and  rebuke  are  within  our  power. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Forgiveness  is  not  inconsistent  with  justice. 
It  does  not  do  away  with  punishment.  It  spirit- 
ualizes punishment;  substituting  mental  for 
bodily  pains. — The  sense  of  the  evil  and  shame  of 


130  WRONGDOERS. 

wrongdoing,  which  is  the  essence  and  end  of  pun- 
ishment, forgiveness,  when  it  is  appreciated,  serves 
to  intensify.  Indeed  it  is  impossible  to  inflict 
punishment  rightly  until  you  have  first  forgiven 
the  offender.  For  punishment  should  be  inflicted 
for  the  offender's  good.  And  not  until  vengeance 
has  given  way  to  forgiveness  are  we  able  to  care 
for  the  offender's  well-being. 

Forgiveness  is  a  special  form  of  love.  It  recog- 
nizes the  humanity  of  the  offender,  and  treats  him 
as  a  brother,  even  when  his  deeds  are  most  un- 
brotherly.  But  it  cares  so  much  for  him  that  it  will 
not  shrink  from  inflicting  whatever  merciful  pains 
may  be  necessary  to  deliver  him  from  his  own  un- 
brotherliness.  Forgiveness  loves  not  the  offense  but 
the  man.  It  hates  the  offense  chiefly  because  it  in- 
jures the  man.  Its  punishment  of  the  offense  is  the 
negative  side  of  its  positive  devotion  to  the  person. 
The  command  *'  love  your  enemies"  is  not  a  hard 
impossibility  on  the  one  hand,  nor  a  soft  piece  of 
sentimentalism  on  the  other.  It  is  possible,  because 
there  is  a  human,  loveable  side,  even  to  the  worst 
villain,  if  we  can  only  bring  ourselves  to  think  on 
that  better  side,  and  the  possibilities  which  it  in- 
volves. It  is  practical,  because  regard  for  that  bet- 
ter side  of  his  nature  demands  that  we  shall  make 
him  as  miserable  in  his  wrongdoing  as  is  neces- 
sary to  lead  him  to  abandon  his  wrongdoing,  and 
give  the  better  possibilities  of  his  nature  a  chance  to 
develop.  The  parent  who  punishes  the  naughty 
child  loves  him  not  less  but  more  than  the  parent 


THE  REWARD.  ^l^ 

who  withholds  the  needed  punishment.  The  state 
which  suffers  crime  to  go  unpunished  becomes  a 
nursery  of  criminals.  It  wrongs  itself;  it  wrongs 
honest  citizens;  but  most  of  all  it  wrongs  the  crimi- 
nals themselves  whom  it  encourages  in  crime  by  un- 
due lenity.  The  object  of  forgiveness  is  not  to  take 
away  punishment,  but  to  make  whatever  punishment 
remains  effective  for  the  reformation  of  the  offender. 
It  is  to  transfer  the  seat  of  suffering  from  the  body, 
where  its  effect  is  uncertain  and  indirect,  to  the  mind, 
where  sorrow  for  wrongdoing  is  powerful  and  effi- 
cacious. Every  wrong  act  brings  its  penalty  with  it. 
In  order  to  induce  repentance  and  reformation  that 
penalty  must  in  some  way  be  brought  home  to  the 
one  who  did  the  wrong.  Vengeance  drives  the 
penalty  straight  home,  refusing  to  bear  any  part  of 
it  itself.  Forgiveness  first  takes  the  penalty  upon 
itself  in  sorrow  for  the  wrong,  and  then  invites  the 
wroncrdoer  to  share  the  sorrow  which  he  who  for- 
gives  him  has  already  borne.  Vengeance  smites  the 
body,  and  often  drives  in  deeper  the  perversity. 
Forgiveness  touches  the  heart  and  gently  but  firmly 
draws  the  heart's  affections  away  from  the  wrong, 
into  devotion  to  the  right. 

THE  REWARD. 

Forgiveness,  rightly  received,  works  the  ref- 
ormation of  the  offender. — And  to  one  who  ardently 
loves  righteousness  there  is  no  joy  comparable  to  that 
of  seeing  a  man  who  has  been  doing  wrong,  turn  from 
it,  renounce  it,  and  determine  that  henceforth  he  will 


132  WRONGDOERS. 

endeavor  to  do  right.  Contrast  heightens  our  emo- 
tions. And  there  is  "joy  over  one  sinner  that  re- 
penteth,  more  than  over  ninety  and  nine  righteous 
persons  that  need  no  repentance."  Deliverance  from 
wrong  is  effected  by  the  firm  yet  kindly  presentation 
of  the  right  as  something  still  possible  for  us,  and  into 
which  a  friend  stands  ready  to  welcome  us.  Refor- 
mation is  wrought  by  that  blending  of  justice  and 
forgiveness  which  at  the  same  time  holds  the  wrong 
abhorrent  and  the  wrongdoer  dear.  Reformation 
is  the  end  at  which  forgiveness  aims,  and  its  ac- 
complishment is  its  own  reward. 

THE    TEMPTATION. 

The  sight  of  heinous  offenses  and  outrageous 
deeds  against  ourselves  or  others  tempts  us  to 
wreak  our  vengeance  upon  the  offender. — This 
impulse  of  revenge  served  a  useful  purpose  in  the 
primitive  condition  of  human  society.  It  still 
serves  as  the  active  support  of  righteous  indignation. 
But  it  is  blind  and  rough ;  and  is  not  suited  to  the 
conditions  of  civilized  life.  Vengeance  has  no  con- 
sideration for  the  true  well-being  of  the  offender. 
It  confounds  the  person  with  the  deed  in  wholesale 
condemnation.  It  renders  evil  for  evil;  it  provokes 
still  further  retaliation  ;  and  erects  a  single  fault 
into  the  occasion  of  a  lasting  feud.  It  is  irra- 
tional, brutal,  and  inhuman  ;  it  is  dangerous  and  de- 
grading. 


THE    VICE   OF  DEFECT,  133 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

The  absence  of  forgiveness  in  dealing  with 
wrongdoers  leads  to  undue  severity. — The  end 

of  punishment  being  to  bring  the  offender  to  realize 
the  evil  of  his  deed  and  to  repent  of  it,  punishment 
should  not  be  carried  beyond  the  point  which  is 
necessary  to  produce  that  result.  To  continue 
punishment  after  genuine  penitence  is  manifested  is 
to  commit  a  fresh  wrong  ourselves.  **  If  thy  brother 
sin,  rebuke  him  ;  and  if  he  repent,  forgive  him.  And 
if  he  sin  against  thee  seven  times  in  a  day,  and 
seven  times  turn  again  to  thee,  saying,  I  repent,  thou 
shalt  forgive  him."  To  ignore  an  unrepented  wrong, 
and  to  continue  to  punish  a  repented  wrong,  are 
equally  wide  of  the  mark  of  that  love  for  the  offender 
which  meets  out  to  him  both  justice  and  forgiveness 
according  to  his  needs.  All  punishment  which  is  not 
tempered  with  forgiveness  is  brutal ;  and  brutalizes 
both  punisher  and  punished.  It  hardens  the  heart  of 
the  offender;  and  itself  constitutes  a  new  offense 
against  him. 

These  principles  apply  strictly  to  relations  between 
individuals.  In  the  case  of  punishment  by  the  state, 
the  necessity  of  self-protection  ;  of  warning  others; 
and  of  approximate  uniformity  in  procedure;  added 
to  the  impossibility  of  getting  at  the  exact  state  of 
mind  of  the  offender  by  legal  processes,  render  it 
necessary  to  inflict  penalties  in  many  cases  which 
are  more  severe  than  the  best  interest  of  the  individ- 
ual offenders  requires.     To  meet  such  cases,  and  to 


134  WRONGDOERS. 

mitigate  the  undue  severity  of  uniform  penalties 
when  they  fall  too  heavily  on  individuals,  all 
civilized  nations  give  the  power  of  pardon  to  the 
executive. 

Whether  the  penalty  be  in  itself  light  or  severe, 
it  should  always  be  administered  in  the  endeavor 
to  improve  and  reform  the  character  of  the  of- 
fender.— The  period  of  confinement  in  jail  or  prison 
should  be  made  a  period  of  real  privation  and  suffer- 
ing; but  it  should  be  especially  the  privation  of  op- 
portunity for  indulgence  in  idleness  and  vice  ;  and 
the  painfulness  of  discipline  in  acquiring  the  knowl- 
edge and  skill  necessary  to  make  the  convict  a  self- 
respecting  and  self-supporting  member  of  society, 
after  his  term  of  sentence  expires. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Lenity  ignores  the  wrong ;  and  by  ignoring  it, 
becomes  responsible  for  its  repetition. — Lenity  is 
sentimentality  bestowed  on  criminals.  It  treats  them 
in  the  manner  most  congenial  to  its  own  feelings, 
instead  of  in  the  way  most  conducive  to  their  good. 
Forgiveness  is  regard  for  the  offender  in  view  of  his 
ability  to  renounce  the  offense  and  try  to  do 
better  in  the  future.  Lenity  confounds  offender 
and  offense  in  a  wholesale  and  promiscuous  am- 
nesty. The  true  attitude  toward  the  wrongdoer 
must  preserve  the  balance  set  forth  by  the  lawgiver 
of  Israel  as  characteristic  of  Israel's  God,  *'full  of 
compassion  and  gracious,  slow  to  anger  and  plente- 


THE   PEN- A  LTV.  135 

ous  in  mercy  and  truth ;  keeping  mercy  for  thou- 
sands, forgiving  iniquity  and  transgression  and  sin  : 
and  that  will  by  no  means  clear  the  guilty''  Lenity 
which  "  clears  the  guilty "  is  neither  mercy,  nor 
graciousness,  nor  compassion,  nor  forgiveness.  Such 
lenity  obliterates  moral  distinctions  ;  disintegrates 
society;  corrupts  and  weakens  the  moral  nature 
of  the  one  who  indulges  in  it ;  and  confirms  in  per- 
versity him  on  whom  it  is  bestowed. 

THE  PENALTY. 

Severity  and  lenity  alike  increase  the  perver- 
sity of  the  offender. — Severity  drives  the  offender 
into  fresh  determination  to  do  wrong ;  and  intrenches 
him  behind  the  conception  that  he  has  been  treated 
unfairly.  He  is  made  to  think  that  all  the  world  is 
against  him,  and  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
set  himself  against  the  world.  Lenity  leads  him  to 
think  the  world  is  on  his  side  no  matter  what  he 
does ;  and  so  he  asks  himself  why  he  should  take 
the  trouble  to  mend  his  ways.  Lenity  to  others 
leads  us  to  be  lenient  toward  ourselves  ;  and  we 
commit  wrong  in  expectation  of  that  lenient  treat- 
ment which  we  are  in  the  habit  of  according  to 
others.  Severity  to  others  makes  us  ashamed  to  ask 
for  mercy  when  we  need  it  for  ourselves.  Further- 
more, knowing  there  is  no  mercy  in  ourselves,  we 
naturally  infer  that  there  is  none  in  others.  We 
disbelieve  in  forgiveness  ;  and  our  disbelief  hides 
from  our  eyes    the    forgiveness,  which,  if   we  had 


^3^  WRONGDOERS, 

more  faith  in  its  presence,  we  might  find.  Hence 
the  unforgiving  man  can  find  no  forgiveness  for 
himself  in  time  of  need  ;  he  sinks  to  that  level  of 
despair  and  confirmed  perversity,  to  which  his  own 
unrelenting  spirit  has  doomed  so  many  of  his  erring 
brothers. 


CHAPTER    XVIL 

In  addition  to  that  bond  of  a  common  humanity 
which  ought  to  bind  us  to  all  our  fellow-men,  there 
is  a  tie  of  special  afifinity  between  persons  of  con- 
genial tastes,  kindred  pursuits,  common  interests, 
and  mutually  cherished  ideals.  Persons  to  whom 
we  are  drawn,  and  who  are  likewise  drawn  to  us,  by 
these  cords  of  subtle  sympathy  we  call  6ur  friends. 

Friendship  is  regard  for  what  our  friend  is  ;  not 
for  what  he  can  do  for  us.  *'  The  perfect  friend- 
ship," says  Aristotle,  "  is  that  of  good  men  who 
resemble  one  another  in  virtue.  For  they  both 
alike  wish  well  to  one  another  as  good  men,  and  it 
is  their  essential  character  to  be  good  men.  And 
those  who  wish  well  to  their  friends  for  the  friends* 
sake  are  friends  in  the  truest  sense  ;  for  they  have 
these  sentiments  toward  each  other  as  being  what 
they  are,  and  not  in  an  accidental  way ;  their  friend- 
ship, therefore,  lasts  as  long  as  their  virtue,  and  that 
is  a  lasting  thing.  Such  friendships  are  uncommon, 
for  such  people  are  rare.  Such  friendship  requires 
long  and  familiar  intercourse.  For  they  cannot  be 
friends  till  each  show  and  approve  himself  to  the 
other  as  worthy  to  be  loved.  A  wish  to  be  friends 
may  be  of  rapid  growth,  but  not  friendship.     Those 

»37 


13S  FRIENDS. 

whose  love  for  one  another  is  based  on  the  useful,  do 
not  love  each  other  for  what  they  are,  but  only  in  so 
far  as  each  gets  some  good  from  the  other.  These 
friendships  are  accidental ;  for  the  object  of  affection 
is  loved,  not  as  being  the  person  or  character  that  he 
is,  but  as  the  source  of  some  good  or  some  pleasure. 
Friendships  of  this  kind  are  easily  dissolved,  as  the 
persons  do  not  continue  unchanged  ;  for  if  they 
cease  to  be  useful  or  pleasant  to  one  another,  their 
love  ceases.  On  the  disappearance  of  that  which 
was  the  motive  of  their  friendship,  their  friendship 
itself  is  dissolved,  since  it  existed  solely  with  a 
view  to  that.  For  pleasure  then  or  profit  it  is 
possible  even  for  bad  men  to  be  friends  with  one 
another;  but  it  is  evident  that  the  friendship  in 
which  each  loves  the  other  for  himself  is  only  pos- 
sible between  good  men ;  for  bad  men  take  no 
delight  in  each  other  unless  some  advantage  is  to 
be  gained.  The  friendship  whose  motive  is  utility  is 
the  friendship  of  sordid  souls.  Friendship  lies  more 
in  loving  than  in  being  loved  ;  so  that  when  people 
love  each  other  in  proportion  to  their  worth,  they 
are  lasting  friends,  and  theirs  is  lasting  friendship." 

THE   DUTY. 

The  interest  of  our  friend  should  be  our  inter- 
est ;  his  welfare,  our  welfare  ;  his  wish,  our  will ; 
his  good,  our  aim. — If  he  prospers  we  rejoice;  if 
he  is  overtaken  by  adversity,  we  must  stand  by  him. 
If  he  is  in  want,  we  must  share  our  goods  with  him. 
If  he  is  unpopular,  we  must  stand  up  for  him.  If  he 


THE    VIRTUE.  139 

does  wrong,  we  must  be  the  first  to  tell  him  of  his 
fault :  and  the  first  to  bear  with  him  the  penalty  of 
his  offense.  If  he  is  unjustly  accused  we  must  be- 
lieve in  his  innocence  to  the  last.  Friends  must 
have  all  things  in  common;  not  in  the  sense  of  legal 
ownership,  which  would  be  impracticable,  and,  as 
Epicurus  pointed  out,  would  imply  mutual  distrust ; 
but  in  the  sense  of  a  willingness  on  the  part  of  each 
to  do  for  the  other  all  that  is  in  his  power.  Only  on 
the  high  plane  of  such  absolute,  whole-souled  devo- 
tion can  pure  friendship  be  maintained. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

The  true  friend  is  one  we  can  rely  upon. — 

Our  deepest  secrets,  our  tenderest  feelings,  our 
frankest  confessions,  our  inmost  aspirations,  our 
most  cherished  plans,  our  most  sacred  ideals  are  as 
safe  in  his  keeping  as  in  our  own.  Yes,  they  are 
safer;  for  the  faithful  friend  will  not  liesitate  to 
prick  the  bubbles  of  our  conceit  ;  laugh  us  out  of 
our  sentimentality  ;  expose  the  root  of  selfishness 
beneath  our  virtuous  pretensions.  ''  Faithful  are  the 
wounds  of  a  friend."  To  be  sure  the  friend  must 
do  all  this  with  due  delicacy  and  tact.  If  he  takes 
advantage  of  his  position  to  exercise  his  censorious- 
ness  upon  us  we  speedily  vote  him  a  bore,  and  take 
measures  to  get  rid  of.  him.  But  when  done  with 
gentleness  and  good  nature,  and  with  an  eye  single 
to  our  real  good,  this  pruning  of  the  tendrils  of  our 
inner  life  is  one  of  the  most  precious  of^ces  of 
friendship. 


146  FRIEXDS. 


THE   REWARD. 


The  chief  blessing  of  friendship  is  the  sense 
that  we  are  not  living  our  lives  and  fighting 
our  battles  alone  ;  but  that  our  lives  are  linked 
with  the  lives  of  others,  and  that  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  our  united  lives  are  felt  by  hearts 
that  beat  as  one. — The  seer  who  laid  down  so  se- 
verely the  stern  conditions  which  the  highest  friend- 
ship must  fulfill,  has  also  sung  its  praises  so  sweetly, 
that  his  poem  at  the  beginning  of  his  essay  may 
serve  as  our  description  of  the  blessings  which  it  is 
in  the  power  of  friendship  to  confer: 

A  ruddy  drop  of  manly  blood 

The  surging  sea  outweighs  ; 

The  world  uncertain  comes  and  goes, 

The  lover  rooted  stays. 

I  fancied  he  was  fled, 

And,  after  many  a  year, 

Glowed  unexhausted  kindliness 

Like  daily  sunrise  there. 

My  careful  heart  was  free  again, — 

Oh,  friend,  my  bosom  said. 

Through  thee  alone  the  sky  is  arched. 

Through  thee  the  rose  is  red. 

All  things  through  thee  take  nobler  form 

And  look  beyond  the  earth, 

The  mill-round  of  our  fate  appears 

A  sun-path  in  thy  worth. 

Me  too  thy  nobleness  has  taught 

To  master  my  despair  ; 

The  fountains  of  my  hidden  life 

Are  through  thy  friendship  fair. 


THE    TEMPTATION,  1^\ 

THE    TEMPTATION. 

A  relation  so  intimate  as  that  of  friendship 
offers    consta;it    opportunity    for     betrayal. — 

Friends  understand  each  other  perfectly.  Friend 
utters  to  friend  many  things  which  he  would  not  for 
all  the  world  let  others  know.  And  more  than  that, 
the  intimate  association  of  friendship  cannot  fail  to 
give  the  friend  an  opportunity  to  perceive  the  deep 
secrets  of  the  other's  heart  which  he  would  not  speak 
even  to  a  friend,  and  which  he  has  scarcely  dared  to 
acknowledge  even  to  himself. 

This  intimate  knowledge  of  another  appeals 
strangely  to  our  vanity  and  pride  ;  and  we  are  often 
tempted  to  show  it  off  by  disclosing  some  of  these 
secrets  which  have  been  revealed  to  us  in  the  confi- 
dence of  friendship.  This  is  the  meanest  thing  one 
person  can  do  to  another.  The  person  who  yields 
to  this  basest  of  temptations  is  utterly  unworthy 
ever  again  to  have  a  friend.  Betrayal  of  friends  is 
the   unpardonable   social  sin. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

We  cannot  find  people  who  in  every  respect 
are  exactly  to  our  liking. —And,  what  is  more  to 
the  point,  we  never  can  make  ourselves  exactly 
what  we  should  like  to  have  other  people  intimately 
know  and  understand.  Friendship  calls  for  courage 
enough  to  show  ourselves  in  spite  of  our  frailties 
and  imperfections  ;  and  to  take  others  in  spite  of  the 
possible  shortcomings  which  close  acquaintance  may 
reveal  in  them.      Friendship  requires   a    readiness 


142  FRIENDS. 

to  give  and  take,  for  better  or  for  worse ;  and  that 
exclusiveness  which  shrinks  from  the  risks  involved 
is  simply  a  combination  of  selfishness  and  cowardice. 
Refusal  to  make  friends  is  a  sure  sign  that  a  man 
either  is  ashamed  of  himself,  or  else  lacks  faith 
in  his  fellow-men.  And  these  two  states  of  mind  are 
not  so  different  as  they  might  at  first  appear.  For 
we  judge  others  chiefly  by  ourselves.  And  the  man 
who  distrusts  his  fellow-men,  generally  bases  his  dis- 
trust of  them  on  the  consciousness  that  he  himself 
is  not  worthy  of  the  trust  of  others.  So  that  the  real 
root  of  exclusiveness  is  the  dread  of  letting  other 
people  get  near  to  us,  for  fear  of  what  they  might 
discover.  Exclusiveness  puts  on  the  airs  of  pride. 
But  pride  is  only  a  game  of  bluff,  by  which  a  man 
who  is  ashamed  to  have  other  people  get  near  enough 
to  see  him  as  he  is  pretends  that  he  is  terribly  afraid 
of  getting  near  enough  to  others  to  see  what  they 
are. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Effusiveness. — Some  people  can  keep  nothing  to 
themselves.  As  soon  as  they  get  an  experience,  or 
feel  an  emotion,  or  have  an  ache  or  pain,  they  must 
straightway  run  and.pour  it  into  the  ear  of  some  sym- 
pathetic listener.  The  result  is  that  experiences 
do  not  gain  sufficient  hold  upon  the  nature  to  make 
any  deep  and  lasting  impression.  No  indepen- 
dence, no  self-reliance,  no  strength  of  character  is 
developed.  Such  people  are  superficial  and  unreal. 
They  ask  everything  and  have  nothing  to  give. 
The  stream  is  so  large  and  constant  that  there  is 


THE  PENALTY,  143 

nothing  left  in  the  reservoir.  Friendship  must  rest 
on  solid  foundations  of  independence  and  mutual 
respect.  With  great  clearness  and  force  Emerson 
proclaims  this  law  in  his  Essay  on  Friendship : 
*'  We  must  be  our  own  before  we  can  be  another's. 
Let  me  be  alone  to  the  end  of  the  world,  rather  than 
that  my  friend  should  overstep,  by  a  word  or  a 
look,  his  real  sympathy.  Let  him  not  cease  an 
instant  to  be  himself.  The  only  joy  I  have  in  his 
being  mine,  is  that  the  not  mine  is  mine.  I  hate 
where  I  looked  for  a  manly  furtherance,  or  at  least 
a  manly  resistance,  to  find  a  mush  of  concession. 
Better  be  a  nettle  in  the  side  of  your  friend  than 
his  echo.  The  condition  which  high  friendship 
demands  is  ability  to  do  without  it.  There  must  be 
very  two,  before  there  can  be  very  one.  Let  it 
be  an  alliance  of  two  large  formidable  natures, 
mutually  beheld,  mutually  feared,  before  yet  they 
recognize  the  deep  identity,  which,  beneath  these 
disparities,  unites  them." 

THE  PENALTY. 

If  we  refuse  to  go  in  company  there  is  noth- 
ing left  for  us  but  to  trudge  along  the  dreary 
way  alone. — If  we  will  not  bear  one  another's  bur- 
dens, we  must  bear  our  own  when  they  are  heaviest 
in  our  unaided  strength  ;  and  fall  beneath  their 
weight.  Here  as  everywhere  penalty  is  simply 
the  inevitable  consecuence  of  conduct.  The  loveless 
heart  is  doomed  to  drag  out  its  term  of  years  m 
the  cheerless  isolation  of  a  life  from  which  the 
light  of  love  has  been  withdrawn. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

XTbe  ffamili^^ 

Thus  far  we  have  considered  our  fellow-men  as 
units,  with  whom  it  is  our  privilege  and  duty  to 
come  into  external  relations.  These  external  re- 
lations after  all  do  not  reach  the  deepest  center  of 
our  lives.  They  indeed  bind  man  to  man  in  bonds 
of  helpfulness  and  service.  But  the  two  who  are  thus 
united  remain  two  separate  selves  after  all.  Even 
friendship  leaves  unsatisfied  yearnings,  undeveloped 
possibilities  in  human  hearts.  However  subtle  and 
tender  the  bond  may  be,  it  remains  to  the  last  phys- 
ical rather  than  chemical;  mechanical  rather  than 
vital ;  the  outward  attachment  of  mutually  exclusive 
wholes,  rather  than  the  inner  blending  of  comple- 
mental  elements  which  lose  their  separate  selfhood 
in  the  unity  of  a  new  and  higher  life.  The  beginning 
of  this  true  spiritual  life,  in  which  the  individual 
loses  his  separate  self  to  find  a  larger  and  nobler 
self  in  a  common  good  in  which  each  individual 
shares,  and  which  none  may  monopolize ; — the 
birthplace  of  the  soul  as  of  the  body  is  in  the  family. 
Till"  nursery  of  virtue,  the  inspirer  of  devotion, 
the  teacher  of  self-sacrifice,  the  institutor  of  love, 
the  family  is  the    foundation  of  all  those    higher 

»4* 


THE  DUTY,  145 

and  nobler  qualities  of  mind  and  heart  which  lift  man 
above  the  level  of  sagacious  brutes. 

THE  DUTY. 

The  family  a  common  good. — Membership  in 
the  family  involves  the  recognition  that  the  true 
life  of  the  individual  is  to  be  found  only  in  union 
with  other  members  ;  in  regard  for  their  rights ; 
in  deference  to  their  wishes  ;  and  in  devotion  to  that 
common  interest  in  which  each  member  shares. 
Each  member  must  live  for  the  sake  of  the  whole 
family.  Children  owe  to  their  parents  obedience, 
and  such  service  as  they  are  able  to  render.  Parents, 
on  the  other  hand,  owe  to  children  support,  training, 
and  an  education  sufficient  to  give  them  a  fair  start 
in  life.  Brothers  and  sisters  owe  to  each  other 
mutual  helpfulness  and  protection.  All  joys  and 
sorrows,  all  hopes  and  fears,  all  plans  and  purposes 
should  be  talked  over,  and  carried  out  in  common. 
No  parent  should  have  a  plan  or  ambition  or  en- 
thusiasm into  which  he  does  not  invite  the  confi- 
dence and  sympathy  of  his  child.  No  child  should 
cherish  a  thought  or  purpose  or  imagination  which 
he  cannot  share  with  father  or  mother.  It  is  the 
duty  of  the  parent  to  enter  sympathetically  into 
the  sports  and  recreations  and  studies  and  curiosi- 
ties of  the  child.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  child  to 
interest  himself  in  whatever  the  father  and  mother 
are  doing  to  support  the  family  and  promote  its 
welfare.  Between  parent  and  child,  brother  and 
sister,  there  should  be  no    secrets;  no  ground    on 


146  THE  FAMILY. 

which  one  member  lives  in  selfish  isolation  from  the 
rest. 

The  basis  of  right  marriage.— These  relations 
come  by  nature,  and  we  grow  into  them  so  gradually 
that  we  are  scarcely  conscious  of  their  existence, 
unless  we  stop  on  purpose  to  think  of  them.  Mar- 
riage, or  the  foundation  of  a  new  family,  however,  is 
a  step  which  we  take  for  ourselves,  once  for  all,  in 
the  maturity  of  our  conscious  powers.  To  know  in 
advance  the  true  from  the  false,  the  real  from  the 
artificial,  the  genuine  from  the  counterfeit,  the 
blessed  from  the  wretched  basis  of  marriage  is  the 
most  important  piece  of  information  a  young  man  or 
woman  can  acquire.  The  test  is  simple  but  search- 
ing. Do  you  find  in  another,  one  to  whose  well- 
being  you  can  devote  your  life  ;  one  to  whom  you 
can  confide  the  deepest  interests  of  your  mind  and 
heart  ;  one'whose  principles  and  purposes  you  can 
appreciate  and  respect :  one  in  whose  image  you  wish 
your  children  to  be  born,  and  on  the  model  of  whose 
character  you  wish  their  characters  to  be  formed  ; 
one  whose  love  will  be  the  best  part  of  whatever 
prosperity,  and  the  sufficient  shield  against  what- 
ever adversity  may  be  your  common  lot?  Then, 
provided  this  other  soul  sees  a  like  worth  in  you,  and 
cherishes  a  like  devotion  for  what  you  are  and  aim  to 
be,  marriage  is  not  merely  a  duty:  it  is  the  open 
door  into  the  purest  and  noblest  life  possible  to 
man  and  woman.  Complete  identification  and  de- 
votion, entire  surrender  of  each  to  each  in  mutual 
affection  is  the   condition  of   true   marriage.      As 


THE  DUTY.  147 

"  John  Halifax"  says  in  refusing  the  hand  of  a  noble- 
man for  his  daughter,  '-In  marriage  there  must  be 
unity — one  aim,  one  faith,  one  love — or  the  marriage 
is  imperfect,  unholy,  a  mere  civil  contract,  and  no 
more."  This  necessity  of  complete,  undivided  de- 
votion of  each  to  each  is,  as  Hegel  points  out,  the 
spiritual  necessity  on  which  monogamy  rests. 
There  can  be  but  one  complete  and  perfect  and 
supreme  merging  of  one's  whole  self  in  the  life  and 
love  of  another.  Marriage  with  two  would  be 
of  necessity  marriage  with  none.  If  we  apprehend 
the  spiritual  essence  of  marriage  we  see  that  mar- 
riage with  more  than  one  is  a  contradiction  in 
terms.  It  is  possible  to  cut  one's  self  up  into  frag- 
ments, and  bestow  a  part  here  and  a  part  there  ;  but 
that  is  not  marriage;  it  is  mere  alliance.  It  brings 
not  love  and  joy  and  peace,  but  hate  and  wretched- 
ness and  strife. 

A  true  marriage  never  can  be  dissolved. — If 
love  be  present  at  the  beginning  it  will  grow 
stronger  and  richer  with  every  added  year  of 
wedded  life.  How  far  a  loveless  marriage  should 
be  enforced  upon  unwilling  parties  by  the  state  for 
the  benefit  of  society  is  a  question  which  it  is  foreign 
to  our  present  purpose  to  discuss.  The  duty  of  the 
individual  who  finds  himself  or  herself  in  this  dread- 
ful condition  is,  however,  clear.  There  is  generally 
a  good  deal  of  self-seeking  on  both  sides  at  the  basis 
of  such  marriages.  Getting  rather  than  giving  was 
the  real  though  often  unsuspected  hope  that  brought 
them  together.     If  either  husband  or  wife  will  reso- 


148  THE  FAMILY. 

lutely  strive  to  correct  the  fault  that  is  in  him  or  her, 
ceasing  to  demand  and  beginning  to  give  unselfish 
affection  and  genuine  devotion,  in  almost  every 
case,  where  the  man  is  not  a  brute  or  a  sot,  and 
the  woman  is  not  a  fashion-plate  or  a  fiend,  the  life 
of  mutual  love  may  be  awakened,  and  a  true  mar- 
riage may  supersede  the  empty  form.  Not  until 
faithful  and  prolonged  efforts  to  establish  a  true 
marriage  within  the  legal  bonds  have  proved  unavail- 
ing; and  only  where  adultery,  desertion,  habitual 
drunkenness,  or  gross  brutality  and  cruelty  demon- 
strate the  utter  impossibilty  of  a  true  marriage,  is 
husband  or  wife  justified  in  seeking  to  escape  the 
bond,  and  to  revert  to  the  lower,  individualistic 
type  of  life. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

In  the  family  we  are  members  one  of  another.— 

The  parent  shows  his  loyalty  to  the  child  by  pro- 
tecting him  when  he  gets  into  trouble.  The  loyal 
brother  defends  his  brothers  and  sisters  against  all 
attacks  and  insults.  The  loyal  child  refuses  to  do 
anything  contrary  to  the  known  wishes  of  father  and 
mother,  or  anything  that  will  reflect  discredit  upon 
them.  The  loyal  child  cares  for  his  parents  and 
kindred  in  misfortune  and  old  age  ;  ministering 
tenderly  to  their  wants,  and  bearing  patiently  their 
infirmities  of  body  and  of  mind  which  are  incidental 
to  declining  powers.  The  loyal  husband  and  wife 
trust  each  other  implicitly  in  everything  ;  and  refuse 
to  have  any  confidences  with  others  more  intimate 


THE  REWARD.  149 

than  they  have  with  each  other.  Not  that  the  family- 
is  narrow  and  exclusive.  Husband  and  wife  should 
each  have  their  outside  interests,  friendships,  and 
enthusiasms.  Each  should  rejoice  in  everything 
which  broadens,  deepens,  and  sweetens  the  life  of 
the  other.  Jealousy  of  each  other  is  the  most 
deadly  poison  that  can  be  introduced  into  a  home. 
It  is  sure  and  instant  death  to  the  peace  and  joy  of 
married  life. 

Other  relations  should  always  be  secondary 
and  external  to  the  primary  and  inner  relation 
of  husband  and  wife  to  each  other. — It  should  be 
the  married  self;  the  self  which  includes  in  its  in- 
most love  and  confidence  husband  or  wife  ;  not 
a  detached  and  independent  self,  which  goes  out 
to  form  connections  and  attachments  in  the  outer 
world.  Where  this  mutual  trust  and  confidence 
are  loyally  maintained  there  can  be  the  greatest 
social  freedom  toward  other  men  and  women 
and  at  the  same  time  perfect  trust  and  devotion  to 
each  other.  This,  however,  is  a  nice  adjustment, 
which  nothing  short  of  perfect  love  can  make.  Love 
makes  it  easily,  and  as  a  matter  of  course.  Loyalty 
is  love  exposed  to  strain,  and  overcoming  strain  and 
temptation   by  the    power  which   love    alone    can 

give. 

THE  REWARD. 

Loyalty  to  the  family  preserves  and  perpet- 
uates the  home. — Home  is  a  place  where  we  can 
rest ;  where  we  can  breathe  freely ;  where  we  can 
have  perfect  trust  in  one  another;  where  we  can  be 


150  THE  FAMILY, 

perfectly  simple,  perfectly  natural,  perfectly  frank; 
where  we  can  be  ourselves;  where  peace  and  love 
are  supreme.  "  This,"  says  John  Ruskin,  *'  is  the 
true  nature  of  home — it  is  the  place  of  peace;  the 
shelter,  not  only  from  all  injury,  but  from  all  terror, 
doubt,  and  division.  In  so  far  as  it  is  not  this,  it  is 
not  home  ;  so  far  as  the  anxieties  of  the  outer  life 
penetrate  into  it,  and  the  unknown,  unloved,  or  hos- 
tile society  of  the  outer  world  is  allowed  to  cross  the 
threshold,  it  ceases  to  be  home;  it  is  then  only  a 
part  of  the  outer  world  which  you  have  roofed  over 
and  lighted  fire  in.  But  so  far  as  it  is  a  sacred  place, 
a  vestal  temple,  a  temple  of  the  hearth  watched  over 
by  household  gods,  before  whose  faces  none  may 
come  but  those  whom  they  can  receive  with  love, — 
so  far  as  it  is  this,  and  roof  and  fire  are  types  only 
of  a  nobler  shade  and  light, — shade  as  of  a  rock  in  a 
weary  land,  and  light  as  of  a  Pharos  on  a  stormy 
sea  ;  so  far  it  vindicates  the  name  and  fulfills  the 
praise  of  home." 

THE  TEMPTATION.  , 

The  individual  must  drop  his  extreme  indi- 
vidualism when  he  crosses  the  threshold  of  the 
home. — The  years  between  youth  and  marriage 
are  years  of  comparative  independence.  The 
young  man  and  woman  learn  in  these  years  to 
take  their  affairs  into  their  own  hands  ;  to  direct 
their  own  course,  to  do  what  seems  right  in  their 
own  eyes,  and  take  the  consequences  of  wisdom 
or   folly   upon   their  own   shoulders.     This   period 


THE    TEMPTATION.  151 

of  independence  is  a  valuable  discipline.  It  de- 
velops strength  and  self-reliance  ;  it  compels  the 
youth  to  face  the  stern  realities  of  life,  and  to  meas- 
ure himself  against  the  world.  It  helps  him  to  ap- 
preciate what  his  parents  have  done  for  him  in  the 
past,  and  prepares  him  to  appreciate  a  home  of  his 
own  when  he  comes  to  have  one.  The  man  and 
woman  who  have  never  known  what  it  is  to  make 
their  own  way  in  the  world  can  never  be  fully  con- 
fident of  their  own  powers,  and  are  seldom  able  to 
appreciate  fully  what  is  done  for  them. 

Many  an  exacting  husband  and  complaining  wife 
would  have  had  their  querulousness  and  ingratitude 
taken  out  of  them  once  for  all  if  they  could  have 
had  a  year  or  two  of  single-handed  conflict  with  real 
hardship.  Independence  and  self-reliance  are  the 
basis  of  self-respect  and  self-control. 

At  the  same  time  this  habit  of  independence, 
especially  if  it  is  ingrained  by  years  of  single  life, 
tends  to  perpetuate  itself  in  ways  that  are  injurious  to 
the  highest  domestic  and  family  life.  Independence 
is  a  magnificent  foundation  for  marriage  ;  to  carry 
it  up  above  the  foundation,  and  build  the  main 
structure  out  of  it,  is  fatal.  The  insistence  on 
rights,  the  urging  of  claims,  the  enforcement  of  pri- 
vate whims  and  fancies,  are  the  death  of  love  and 
the  destruction  of  the  family.  Unless  one  is  ready 
to  give  everything,  asking  nothing  save  what  love 
gives  freely  in  return,  marriage  will  prove  a  fountain 
of  bitterness  rather  than  of  sweetness;  a  region  of 
storm  and  tempest  rather  than  a  haven  of  repose. 


152  THE  FAMILY. 

Within  a  bond  so  close  and  all-embracing  there  is 
no  room  for  the  independent  life  of  separated  selves. 
Each  must  lose  self  in  the  other;  both  must  merge 
themselves  in  devotion  to  a  common  good  ;  or  the 
bond  becomes  a  fetter,  and  the  home  a  prison. 
Unless  one  is  prepared  to  give  all  to  the  object  of  his 
love,  duty  to  self,  to  the  object  of  his  affections,  and 
to  the  blessed  state  of  marriage  demands  that  he 
should  offer  nothing,  and  remain  outside  a  relation 
which  his  whole  self  cannot  enter.  Independence 
outside  of  marriage  is  respectable  and  honorable. 
Independence  and  self-assertion  in  marriage  toward 
husband  or  wife  is  mean  and  cruel.  It  is  the  at- 
tempt to  partake  of  that  in  which  we  refuse  to  par- 
ticipate;  to  claim  the  advantages  of  an  organism  in 
which  we  refuse  to  comply  with  the  conditions  of 
membership.  Not  admiration,  nor  fascination,  nor 
sentimentality,  nor  flattered  vanity  can  bind  two 
hearts  together  in  life-long  married  happiness.  For 
these  are  all  forms  of  self-seeking  in  disguise.  Love 
alone,  love  that  loses  self  in  its  object ;  love  that 
accepts  service  with  gladness  and  transmutes  sacri- 
fice into  a  joy;  simple,  honest,  self-forgetful  love 
must  be  the  light  and  life  of  marriage,  or  else  it  will 
speedily  go  out  in  darkness  and  expire  in  death. 
Of  the  deliberate  seeking  of  external  ends  in  mar- 
riage, such  as  money,  position,  family  connections! 
and  the  like,  it  ought  not  to  be  necessary  to  say  a 
word  to  any  thoughtful  person.  It  is  the  basest  act 
of  which  man  or  woman  is  capable.  It  is  an  insult 
to  marriage  ;  it  is  a  mockery  of  love ;  it  is  treachery 


THE  VICE   OF  DEFECT.  IS3 

and  falsehood  and  robbery  toward  the  person  mar- 
ried. It  subordinates  the  lifelong  welfare  of  a 
person  to  the  acquisition  of  material  things.  It  in- 
troduces fraud  and  injustice  into  the  inmost  center 
of  one's  life,  and  makes  respect  of  self,  happiness 
in  marriage,  faith  in  human  nature  forever  im- 
possible. The  deliberate  formation  of  a  loveless 
marriage  is  a  blasphemy  against  God,  a  crime  against 
society,  a  wrong  to  a  fellow-being,  and  a  bitter  and 
lasting  curse  to  one's  own  soul. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

Self-sufificiency  fatal  to  the  family.— The  short- 
coming which  most  frequently  keeps  individuals 
outside  of  the  family,  and  keeps  them  incomplete 
and  imperfect  members  of  the  family  after  they 
enter  it,  is  the  self-sufificiency  which  is  induced  by 
a  life  of  protracted  independence.  Marriage  is  from 
one  point  of  view  a  sacrifice,  a  giving-up.  The 
bachelor  can  spend  more  money  on  himself  than 
can  the  married  man  who  must  provide  for  wife  and 
children.  The  single  woman  can  give  to  study  and 
music  and  travel  an  amount  of  time  and  atten- 
tion which  is  impossible  to  the  wife  and  mother. 
Such  a  view  of  marriage  is  supremely  mean  and 
selfish.  Only  a  very  little  and  sordid  soul  could 
entertain  it.  There  are  often  the  best  and  noblest 
of  reasons  why  man  or  woman  should  remain  single. 
It  is  a  duty  to  do  so  rather  than  to  marry  from  any 
motive  save  purest  love.  Marriage,  however,  should 
be  regarded  as  the  ideal  state  for  every  man   and 


154  THE  FAMILY. 

woman.  To  refuse  to  marry  for  merely-  selfish 
reasons;  or  to  carry  over  into  marriage  the  selfish 
individualistic  temper,  which  clings  so  tenaciously 
to  the  little  individual  self  that  it  can  never  attain 
the  larger  self  which  comes  from  real  union  and 
devotion  to  another — this  is  to  sin  against  human 
nature,  and  to  prove  one's  self  unworthy  of  member- 
ship in  society's  most  fundamental  and  sacred  insti- 
tution. 

The  child  who  sets  his  own  will  against  his 
parent's,  the  mother  who  thrusts  her  child  out  of 
her  presence  in  order  to  pursue  pleasures  more  con- 
genial than  the  nurture  of  her  own  offspring,  the 
man  who  leaves  his  family  night  after  night  to  spend 
his  evenings  in  the  club  or  the  saloon,  the  woman 
who  spends  on  dress  and  society  the  money  that  is 
needed  to  relieve  her  husband  from  overwork  and 
anxiety,  and  to  bring  up  her  children  in  health  and 
intelligence,  do  an  irreparable  wrong  to  the  family, 
and  deal  a  death  blow  to  the  home. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Self-obliteration  robs  the  family  of  the  best 
we  have  to  give  it. — The  man  who  makes  himself 
a  slave;  goes  beyond  his  strength;  denies  himself 
needed  rest  and  recreation ;  grows  prematurely  old, 
cuts  himself  off  from  intercourse  with  his  fellow-men 
in  order  to  secure  for  his  family  a  position  or  a  for- 
tune :  the  woman  who  works  early  and  late  ;  forgets 
her  music,  and  forsakes  her  favorite  books  ;  gives  up 
friends  and  society  ;  grows  anxious  and  careworn  in 


THE  PENALTY.  155 

order  to  give  her  sons  and  daughters  a  better  start  in 
life  than  she  had,  are  making  a  fatal  mistake.  In 
the  effort  to  provide  their  children  with  material 
things  and  intellectual  advantages  they  are  depriv- 
ing them  of  what  even  to  the  children  is  of  far  more 
consequence — healthy,  happy,  cheerful,  interesting, 
enthusiastic  parents.  To  their  children  as  well 
as  to  themselves  parents  owe  it  to  be  the  brightest, 
cheeriest,  heartiest,  wisest,  completest  persons  that 
they  are  capable  of  being.  Children  also  when 
they  have  reached  maturity,  although  they  owe  to 
their  parents  a  reverent  regard  for  all  reasonable 
desires  and  wishes,  ought  not  to  sacrifice  oppor- 
tunities for  gaining  a  desired  education  or  an  advan- 
tageous start  in  business,  merely  to  gratify  a  capri- 
cious whim  or  groundless  foreboding  of  an  arbitrary 
and  unreasoning  parent.  Devotion  to  the  family 
does  not  imply  withdrawal  from  the  world  outside. 
The  larger  and  fuller  one's  relations  to  the  world 
without,  the  deeper  and  richer  ought  to  be  one's 
contribution  to  the  family  of  which  he  is  a  member. 

THE  PENALTY. 

To  have  no  one  for  whom  we  supremely  care, 
and  no  one  who  cares  much  for  us  ;  to  have  no 
place  where  we  can  shield  ourselves  from  out- 
ward opposition  and  inward  despair  ;  to  have  no 
larger  life  in  which  we  can  merge  the  littleness 
of  our  solitary  selves  ;  to  touch  other  lives  only 
on  the  surface,  and  to  take  no  one  to  our 
heart ;— this  is  the   sad j  estate    of  the  man  or 


156  THE  FAMILY. 

woman  who  refuses  to  enter  with  whole-souled 
devotion  into  union  with  another  in  the  building 
of  a  family  and  a  home.— The  sense  that  this  lone- 
liness is  chosen  in  fidelity  to  duty  makes  it  en- 
durable for  multitudes  of  noble  men  and  women. 
But  for  the  man  or  woman  who  chooses  such  a 
life  in  proud  self-sufficiency,  for  the  sake  of  fan- 
cied freedom  and  independence,  it  is  hard  to  con- 
ceive what  consolation  can  be  found.  Thomas  Car- 
lyle,  speaking  of  the  joys  of  living  in  close  union 
with  those  who  love  us,  and  whom  we  love,  says : 
''  It  is  beautiful ;  it  is  human  !  Man  lives  not  other- 
wise, nor  can  live  contented,  anywhere  or  anywhen. 
Isolation  is  the  sum-total  of  wretchedness  to  man. 
To  be  cut  off,  to  be  left  solitary  ;  to  have  a  world 
alien,  not  your  world  ;  all  a  hostile  camp  for  you  ; 
not  a  home  at  all,  of  hearts  and  faces  who  are  yours, 
whose  you  are  !  It  is  the  frightfullest  enchantment ; 
too  truly  a  work  of  the  Evil  One.  To  have  neither 
superior,  nor  inferior,  nor  equal,  united  manlike  to 
you.  Without  father,  without  child,  without  brother. 
Man  knows  no  sadder  destiny." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Ube  State* 

Out  of  the  family  grew  the  state.  The  primitive 
state  was  an  enlarged  family,  of  which  the  father 
was  the  head.  Citizenship  meant  kinship,  real  or 
fictitious.  The  house  or  gens  was  a  composite  fam- 
ily. Houses  united  into  tribes,  and  the  authority  of 
the  chieftain  over  his  fellow-tribesmen  was  still  based 
on  the  fact  that  they  were,  either  by  birthright  or 
adoption,  his  children.  The  ancient  state  was  the 
union  of  tribes  under  one  priest  and  king  who  was 
regarded  as  the  father  of  the  wdiole  people. 

Disputes  about  the  right  of  succession,  and  the 
disadvantage  and  danger  of  having  a  tyrant  or  a 
weakling  rule,  just  because  he  happened  to  be  the 
son  of  the  previous  ruler,  led  men  to  elect  their  rul- 
ers. There  are  to-day  states  like  Russia  where  the 
hereditary  monarch  is  the  ruler:  states  like  the 
United  States  where  all  rulers  are  elected  by  the 
people  ;  and  states  like  England  where  the  nomi- 
nal ruler  is  an  hereditary  monarch,  and  the  real  rulers 
are  chosen  by  the  people. 

THE    DUTY. 

The  function  of  the  state  is  the  organization 
of  the  life  of  the  people.— Men  can  live  together  in 

»57 


158  THE   STATE. 

peace  and  happiness  only  on  condition  that  they 
assert  for  themselves  and  respect  in  others  certain 
rights  to  life,  liberty,  property,  reputation,  and  opin- 
ion. My  right  it  is  my  neighbor's  duty  to  observe. 
His  right  it  is  my  duty  to  respect.  These  mutual 
rights  and  duties  are  grounded  in  the  nature  of 
things  and  the  constitution  of  man.  They  are  the 
conditions  which  must  be  observed  if  man  is  to  live 
in  unity  with  his  fellow-men.  It  is  the  business  of 
the  state  to  define,  declare,  and  enforce  these  rights 
and  duties.  And  as  citizens  it  is  our  duty  to  the 
state  to  do  all  in  our  power  to  frame  just  laws  ; 
to  see  that  they  are  impartially  and  effectively  ad- 
ministered ;  to  obey  these  laws  ourselves ;  to  con- 
tribute our  share  of  the  funds  necessary  to  maintain 
the  government ;  and  to  render  military  service  when 
force  is  needed  to  protect  the  government  from  over- 
throw. To  law  and  government  we  owe  all  that  makes 
life  endurable  or  even  possible  :  the  security  of  prop- 
erty ;  the  sanctity  of  home  ;  the  opportunity  of  ed- 
ucation ;  the  stability  of  institutions;  the  blessings 
of  peace  ;  protection  against  violence  and  bloodshed. 
Since  the  state  and  its  laws  are  essential  to  the  well- 
being  of  all  men,  and  consequently  of  ourselves; 
we  owe  to  it  the  devotion  of  our  time,  our  knowl- 
edge, our  influence,  yes,  our  life  itself  if  need  be.  If 
it  comes  to  a  choice  between  living  but  a  brief  time, 
and  that  nobly,  in  devotion  to  country,  and  living  a 
long  time  basely,  in  betrayal  of  our  country's  good, 
no  true,  brave  man  will  hesitate  to  choose  the  for- 
mer.    In  times  of  war  and  revolution  that  choice 


THE  DUTY.  159 

has  been  presented  to  men  in  every  age  and  coun- 
try :    and  men  have  always   been    found  ready  to 
choose  the  better  part  ;  death    for  country,  rather 
than  life  apart  from  her.     So  deep  was  the  convic- 
tion in  the  mind  of  Socrates  that  the  laws  of  the 
state  should  be  obeyed  at  all  costs,  that  when  he  had 
been  sentenced  to  death  unjustly,  and  had  an  op- 
portunity to  escape  the  penalty  by  running  away,  he 
refused  to  do  it  on  the  ground  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  obey  those  laws  which  had  made  him  what  he 
was  and  whose  protection  he  had  enjoyed  so  many 
years.     To  the  friend  who   tried  to  induce  him  to 
escape  he  replied  that  he  seemed   to   hear  the  laws 
saying  to  him,  ''Our  country  is   more   to  be  valued 
and  higher  and  holier  far  than  father  or  mother.  And 
when  we  are  punished  by  her,  whether  with  impris- 
onment or  stripes,  the  punishment  is  to  be  endured 
in  silence  ;  and  if  she  sends  us  to  wounds  or  death 
in  battle,  thither  we  follow  as  is  right ;    neither  may 
anyone  yield  or  retreat  or  leave  his  rank,  but  wheth- 
er in  battle  or   in  a  court  of   law,  or   in   any  other 
place,  he  must  do  what  his  city  and  his  country  or- 
der him  ;  or  he  must  change  their  view  of  what  is 
just ;  and  if  he  may  do  no  violence  to  his  father  or 
mother,  much  less  may  he  do  violence  to  his  coun- 
try." To  do  and  bear  whatever  is  necessary  to  main- 
tain that  organization  of  life  which  the  state  repre- 
sents is  the  imperative  duty  of  every  citizen.  This 
duty  to  serve  the  country  is  correlative  to  the  right 
to  be  a  citizen.     No  man  can  be  in  truth  and  spirit  a 
citizen  on  any  other  terms.    And  not  to  be  a  citizen 


I60  THE   STATE. 

is  not  to  be,  in  any  true  and  worthy  meaning  of  the 
term,  a  man. 

THE    VIRTUE. 

Love  of  country,  or  patriotism,  like  all  love 
places  the  object  loved  first  and  self  second.— 

In  all  public  action  the  patriot  asks  not,  "  What  is 
best  for  me?  "but,  ''What  is  best  for  my  country?" 
Patriotism  assumes  as  many  forms  as  there  are  cir- 
cumstances and  ways  in  which  the  welfare  of  the 
country  may  be  promoted.  In  time  of  war  the 
patriot  shoulders  his  gun  and  marches  to  fight  the 
enemy.  In  time  of  election  he  goes  to  the  caucus 
and  the  polls,  and  expresses  his  opinion  and  casts 
his  vote  for  what  he  believes  to  be  just  measures 
and  honest  men.  When  taxes  are  to  be  levied,  he 
gives  the  assessor  a  full  account  of  his  property,  and 
pays  his  fair  share  of  the  expense  of  government. 
When  one  party  proposes  measures  and  nominates 
men  whom  he  considers  better  than  those  of  the 
opposite  party,  he  votes  with  that  party,  whether  it 
is  for  his  private  interest  to  do  so  or  not.  The 
patriot  will  not  stand  apart  from  all  parties,  because 
none  is  good  enough  for  him.  He  will  choose  the 
best,  knowing  that  no  political  party  is  perfect.  He 
will  act  with  that  party  as  long  as  it  continues  to 
seem  to  him  the  best ;  for  he  must  recognize  that 
one  man  standing  alone  can  accomplish  no  practical 
political  result.  The  moment  he  is  convinced  that 
the  party  with  which  he  has  been  acting  has  become 
more  corrupt,  and  less  faithful  to  the  interests  of 


THE  REWARD,  l6l 

the  country  than  the  opposite  party,  he  will  change 
his  vote.  Self  first,  personal  friends  second,  party 
third,  and  country  fourth,  is  the  order  of  consider- 
ations in  the  mind  of  the  ofifice-seeker,  the  wire- 
puller, the  corrupt  politician.  Country  first,  party 
second,  personal  friends  third,  and  self  last  is  the 
order  in  the  mind  of  the  true  citizen,  the  courageous 
statesman,  the  unselfish  patriot. 

THE  REWARD. 

In  return  for  serving  our  country  we  receive  a 
country  to  serve.— The  state  makes  possible  for  us 
all  those  pursuits,  interests,  aims,  and  aspirations 
which  lift  our  lives  above  the  level  of  the  brutes. 
Through  the  institutions  which  the  state  maintains, 
schools,  almshouses,  courts,  prisons,  roads,  bridges, 
harbors,  laws,  armies,  police,  there  is  secured  to  the 
individual  the  right  and  opportunity  to  acquire 
property,  engage  in  business,  travel  wherever  he 
pleases,  share  in  the  products  of  the  whole  earth, 
read  the  books  of  all  nations,  reap  the  fruits  of 
scholarly  investigation  in  all  countries,  take  an  in- 
terest in  the  welfare  and  progress  of  mankind. 
This  power  of  the  individual  to  live  a  universal  life, 
this  participation  of  each  in  a  common  and  world- 
wide good,  is  the  product  of  civilization.  And 
civilization  is  impossible  without  that  subordination 
of  each  to  the  just  claims  of  all,  which  law  requires 
and  which  it  is  the  business  of  the  state  to  enforce. 


l62  THE   STATE. 

THE    TEMPTATION. 

Organization  involves  a  multitude  of  offices 
and  public  servants.  Many  of  these  offices  are 
less  onerous  and  more  lucrative  than  the  aver- 
age man  can  find  elsewhere.  Many  offices  give 
a  man  an  opportunity  to  acquire  dishonest  gains. 
— Hence  arises  the  great  political  temptation  which 
is  to  seek  office,  not  as  a  means  of  rendering  useful 
and  honorable  service  to  the  country,  but  as  a 
means  to  getting  an  easy  living  out  of  the  country, 
and  at  the  public  expense.  The  "  spoils  system," 
which  consists  in  rewarding  service  to  party  by  op- 
portunity to  plunder  the  country  :  which  pays  public 
servants  first  for  their  service  to  party,  and  secondly 
for  service  to  the  country  :  which  makes  usefulness 
to  party  rather  than  serviceableness  to  the  country 
the  basis  of  appointment  and  promotion,  is  the 
worst  evil  of  our  political  life.  *'  Public  office  is  a 
public  trust."  Men  who  so  regard  it  are  the  only 
men  fit  for  it.  Office  so  held  is  one  of  the  most 
honorable  forms  of  service  which  a  man  can  render  to 
his  fellow-men.  Office  secured  and  held  by  the 
methods  of  the  spoils  system  is  a  disgrace  to  the 
nation  that  is  corrupt  enough  to  permit  it,  and  to 
the  man  who  is  base  enough  to  profit  by  it. 

THE  VICE  OF   DEFECT. 

Betrayal  of  one's  country  and  disregard  of  its 
interests  is  treason. — In  time  of  war  and  revolu- 
tion treason  consists  in  giving  information  to  the 


THE    VICE   OF  DEFECT.  165 

enemy,  surrendering  forts,  ships,  arms,  or  ammuni- 
tion into  his  hands  ;  or  fighting  in  such  a  half-hearted 
way  as  to  invite  defeat.  Treason  under  such  cir- 
cumstances is  the  unpardonable  sin  against  country. 
The  traitor  is  the  most  despicable  person  in  the 
state  ;  for  he  takes  advantage  of  the  protection  the 
state  gives  to  him  and  the  confidence  it  places  in 
him  to  stab  and  murder  his  benefactor  and  pro- 
tector. 

The  essential  quality  of  treason  is  manifested  in 
many  forms  in  time  of  peace.  Whoever  sacrifices 
the  known  interests  of  his  country  to  the  interests 
of  himself,  or  of  his  friends,  or  of  his  party,  is  there- 
in guilty  of  the  essential  crime  of  treason.  Whoever 
votes  for  an  appropriation  in  order  to  secure  for  an- 
other man  lucrative  employment  or  a  profitable  con- 
tract ;  whoever  gives  or  takes  money  for  a  vote  ;  who- 
ever increases  or  diminishes  a  tax  with  a  view  to  the 
business  interests,  not  of  the  country  as  a  whole,  but 
of  a  few  interested  parties ;  whoever  accepts  or 
bestows  a  public  ofifice  on  any  grounds  other  than 
the  efficiency  of  service  which  the  office-holder  is  to 
render  to  the  country ;  whoever  evades  his  just 
taxes ;  whoever  suffers  bad  men  to  be  elected  and 
bad  measures  to  become  laws  through  his  own  negli- 
gence to  vote  himself  and  to  influence  others  to 
vote  for  better  men  and  better  measures,  is  guilty 
of  treason.  For  in  these,  which  are  the  only  ways 
possible  to  him,  he  has  sacrificed  the  good  of  his 
country  to  the  personal  and  private  interests  of  him- 
self and  of  his  friends. 


1^4  THE  STATE. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

True  and  false  ambition.— The  service  of  the 
country  in  public  office  is  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing and  most  honorable  pursuits  in  which  a  man  can 
engage.  Ambition  to  serve  is  always  noble.  Desire 
for  the  honors  and  emoluments  of  public  ofifice, 
however,  may  crowd  out  the  desire  to  render  pub- 
lic service.  Such  a  substitution  of  selfish  for 
patriotic  considerations,  such  an  inversion  of  the 
proper  order  of  interests  in  a  man's  mind,  is  the  vice 
of  political  ambition.  The  ambitious  politician 
seeks  ofifice,  not  because  he  seeks  to  promote  meas- 
ures which  he  believes  to  be  for  the  public  good  ; 
not  because  he  believes  he  can  promote  those  in- 
terests more  effectively  than  any  other  available 
candidate:  but  just  because  an  office  makes  him 
feel  big ;  or  because  he  likes  the  excitement  of 
political  life  ;  or  because  he  can  make  money 
directly  or  indirectly  out  of  it.  Such  political 
ambition  is  as  hollow  and  empty  an  aim  as  can 
possess  the  mind  of  man.  And  yet  it  deceives 
and  betrays  great  as  well  as  little  men.  It  is 
our  old  foe  of  sentimentality,  dressed  in  a  new  garb, 
and  displaying  itself  on  a  new  stage.  It  is  the 
substitution  of  one's  own  personal  feelings,  for  a 
direct  regard  for  the  object  which  makes  those  feel- 
ings possible.  It  is  a  very  subtle  vice  :  and  the 
only  safeguard  against  it  is  a  deep  and  genuine 
devotion  to  country  for  country's  sake. 


THE  PENALTY,  165 


THE  PENALTY. 


A  state  in  which  laws  were  broken,  taxes 
evaded,  and  corrupt  men  placed  in  authority- 
could  not  endure.— With  the  downfall  of  the  state 
would  arise  the  brigand,  the  thief,  the  murderer,  and 
the  reign  of  dishonesty,  violence,  and  terror. 

The  individual,  it  is  true,  may  sin  against  the  state 
and  escape  the  full  measure  of  this  penalty  himself. 
In  that  case,  however,  the  penalty  is  distributed  over 
the  vast  multitude  of  honest  citizens,  who  bear  the 
common  injury  which  the  traitor  inflicts  upon  the 
state.  The  man  who  betrays  his  country,  may  con- 
tinue to  have  a  country  still ;  but  it  is  no  thanks  to 
him.  It  is  because  he  reaps  the  reward  of  the 
loyalty  and  devotion  of  citizens  nobler  than  him- 
self. 

Yet  even  then  the  country  is  not  in  the  deepest 
sense  really  his.  He  cannot  enjoy  its  derpest  bless- 
ings. He  cannot  feel  in  his  inmost  heart,  **  This 
country  is  mine.  To  it  I  have  given  myself.  Of  it 
I  am  a  true  citizen  and  loyal  member."  He  knows 
he  is  unworthy  of  his  country.  He  knows  that  if  his 
country  could  find  him  out,  and  separate  him  from 
the  great  mass  of  his  fellow-citizens,  she  would  re- 
pudiate him  as  unworthy  to  be  called  her  son.  The 
traitor  may  continue  to  receive  the  gifts  of  his  coun- 
try; he  may  appropriate  the  blessings  she  bestows 
with  impartial  hand  on  the  good  and  on  the  evil. 
But  the  sense  that  this  glorious  and  righteous  order 
of  which  the  state  is  the  embodiment  and  of  which 


1 66  THE   STATE, 

our  country  is  the  preserver  and  protector  belongs 
to  him  ;  that  it  is  an  expression  of  his  thought,  his 
will  and  his  affection  ; — this  spiritual  participation 
in  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  state,  this  supreme  devo- 
tion to  a  beloved  country,  remains  for  such  an  one 
forever  impossible.  In  his  soul,  in  his  real  nature, 
he  is  an  outcast,  an  alien,  and  an  enemy. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Society* 

Regard  for  others,  merely  as  individuals,  does 
not  satisfy  the  deepest  yearnings  of  our  social 
nature.  The  family  is  so  much  more  to  us  than  the 
closest  of  ties  which  we  can  form  on  lines  of  busi- 
ness, charity,  or  even  friendship  ;  because  in  place  of 
an  aggregate  of  individuals,  each  with  his  separate 
interests,  the  family  presents  a  life  in.  which  each 
member  shares  in  a  good  which  is  common  to  all. 

The  state  makes  possible  a  common  good  on  a 
much  wider  scale.  Still,  on  a  strict  construction  of 
its  functions,  the  state  merely  insures  the  outward 
form  of  this  wider,  common  life.  The  state  declares 
what  man  shall  not  do,  rather  than  what  man  shall 
do,  in  his  relations  to  his  fellow-men.  To  prevent 
the  violation  of  mutual  rights  rather  than  to  secure 
the  performance  of  mutual  duties,  is  the  funda- 
mental function  of  the  state.  Of  course  these  two 
sides  cannot  be  kept  entirely  apart.  There  is  a 
strong  tendency  at  the  present  time  to  enlarge  the 
province  of  the  state,  and  to  intrust  it  with  the 
enforcement  of  positive  duties  which  man  owes  to 
his  fellow-men,  and  which  class  owes  to  class. 
Whether  this  tendency  is  good  or  bad,  whether  it  is 
desirable  to  enforce  social  duties,  or  to  trust  them 

167 


l68  SOCIETY. 

to  the  unfettered  social  conscience  of  mankind,  is  a 
theoretical  question  which,  for  our  practical  pur- 
poses, we  need  not  here  discuss. 

No  man  liveth  unto  himself.  No  man  ought  to 
be  satisfied  with  a  good  which  is  peculiar  to  himself, 
from  which  mankind  as  a  whole  are  excluded.  No 
man  can  be  so  satisfied.  Ignorance,  prejudice,  self- 
ishness, pride,  custom,  blind  men  to  this  common 
good,  and  prevent  them  from  making  the  efforts 
and  sacrifices  necessary  to  realize  it.  But  the  man 
who  could  deliberately  prefer  to  see  the  world  in 
which  he  lives  going  to  destruction  would  be  a 
monster  rather  than  a  man. 

This  common  life  of  humanity  in  which  each 
individual  partakes  is  society.  Society  is  the 
larger  self  of  each  individual.  Its  interests  and 
ours  are  fundamentally  one  and  the  same.— If  the 
society  in  which  we  live  is  elevated  and  pure  and 
noble  we  share  its  nobleness  and  are  elevated  by  it. 
If  society  is  low,  corrupt,  and  degraded,  we  share  its 
corruption,  and  its  baseness  drags  us  down.  So 
vital  and  intimate  is  this  bond  between  society  and 
ourselves  that  it  is  im^possible  when  dealing  with 
moral  matters  to  keep  them  apart.  To  be  a  better 
man,  without  at  the  same  time  being  a  better 
neighbor,  citizen,  workman,  soldier,  scholar,  or  busi- 
ness man,  is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  For  life  con- 
sists in  these  social  relations  to  our  fellows.  And 
the  better  we  are,  the  better  these  social  duties  will 
be  fulfilled. 

Society    includes   all    the    objects    hitherto    con- 


THE  DUTY.  169 

sidered.  Society  is  the  organic  life  of  man,  in 
which  the  particular  objects  and  relations  of  our  in- 
dividual lives  are  elements  and  members.  Hence 
in  this  chapter,  and  throughout  the  remainder  of 
the  book,  we  shall  not  be  concerned  with  new 
materials,  but  with  the  materials  with  which  we  are 
already  familiar,  viewed  in  their  broader  and  more 
comprehensive   relationships. 

THE  DUTY. 

In  each  act  we  should  think  not  merely  "  How 
will  this  act  affect  me  ?  "  but  "  How  will  this  act 
affect  all  parties  concerned,  and  society  as  a 
whole  ?  " — The  interests  of  all  men  are  my  own,  by 
virtue  of  that  common  society  of  which  they  and  I 
are  equal  members.  What  is  good  for  others  is 
good  for  me,  because,  in  that  broader  view  of  my 
own  nature  which  society  embodies,  my  good  can- 
not be  complete  unless,  to  the  extent  of  my  ability, 
their  good  is  included  in  my  own.  Hence  we  have 
the  maxims  laid  down  by  Kant :  "  Act  as  if  the 
maxim  of  thy  action  were  to  become  by  thy  will  a 
universal  law  of  nature."  '*So  act  as  to  treat  hu- 
manity, whether  in  thine  own  person  or  in  that  of 
another,  in  every  case  as  an  end,  never  as  a  means 
only."  Or  as  Professor  Royce  puts  the  same 
thought ;  "  Act  as  a  being  would  act  who  included 
thy  will  and  thy  neighbor's  will  in  the  unity  of  one 
life,  and  who  had  therefore  to  suffer  the  consequences 
for  the  aims  of  both  that  will  follow  from  the  act  of 
either."     '*  In  so   far  as  in  thee  lies,  act  as  if  thou 


1 70  SOCIETY. 

wert  at  once  thy  neighbor  and  thyself.  Treat  these 
two  lives  as  one." 

The ;  realization  of  the  good  of  all  in  and 
through  the  act  of  each  is  the   social  ideal.— 

In  everyday  matters  this  can  be  brought  about  by 
simply  taking  account  of  all  the  interests  of  others 
which  will  be  affected  by  our  act.  In  the  relations 
between  employer  and  employee,  for  instance,  profit 
sharing  is  the  most  practical  form  of  realizing  this 
community  of  interest.  Such  action  involves  a  co- 
operation of  interests  as  the  motives  of  the  indi- 
vidual act. 

The  larger  social  ends,  such  as  education,  philan- 
thropy, reform,  public  improvements,  require  the 
co-operation  of  many  individuals  in  the  same  enter- 
prise. The  readiness  to  contribute  a  fair  share  of 
our  time,  money,  and  influence  to  these  larger  public 
interests,  which  no  individual  can  undertake  alone, 
is  an  important  part  of  our  social  duty.  Every 
beneficent  cause,  every  effort  to  rouse  public  senti- 
ment against  a  wrong,  or  to  make  it  effective  in  the 
enforcement  of  a  right  ;  every  endeavor  to  unite 
men  in  social  intercourse;  every  plan  to  extend  the 
opportunities  for  education  ;  every  measure  for  the 
relief  of  the  deserving  poor,  and  the  protection  of 
homeless  children  ;  every  wise  movement  for  the 
prevention  of  vice,  crime,  and  intemperance,  is  en- 
titled to  receive  from  each  one  of  us  the  same  intel- 
ligent attention,  the  same  keenness  of  interest,  the 
same  energy  of  devotion,  the  same  sacrifice  of 
inclination  and  convenience,  the  same  resoluteness 


THE  VIRTUE,  I? I 

and  courage  of  action  that  we  give  to  our  private 
affairs. 

Co-operation,  then,  is  of  two  kinds,  inward 
and  outward:  co-operation  between  the  interests 
of  others  and  of  ourselves  in  the  motive  to  our 
individual  action;  and  co-operation  of  our  action 
with  the  action  of  others  to  accomplish  objects 
too  vast  for  private  undertaking.— Both  forms 
of  co-operation  are  in  principle  the  same ;  they 
strengthen  and  support  each  other.  The  man  who 
is  in  the  habit  of  considering  the  interests  of  others 
in  his  individual  acts  will  be  more  ready  to  unite  with 
others  in  the  promotion  of  public  beneficence.  And 
on  the  other  hand  the  man  who  is  accustomed  to 
act  with  others  in  large  public  movements  will  be 
more  inclined  to  act  for  others  in  his  personal  affairs. 
The  reformer  and  philanthropist  is  simply  the  man 
of  private  generosity  and  good-will  acting  out  his 
nature  on  a  larger  stage. 

THE    VIRTUE. 

Public  spirit  is  the  life  of  the  community  in  the 
heart  of  the  individual. — This  recognition  that  we 
belong  to  society,  and  that  society  belongs  to  us, 
that  its  interests  are  our  interests,  that  its  wrongs 
are  ours  to  redress,  its  rights  are  ours  to  maintain, 
its  losses  are  ours  to  bear,  its  blessings  are  ours  to 
enjoy,  is  public  spirit. 

A  generous  regard  for  the  public  welfare,  a 
willingness  to  lend  a  hand  in  any  movement  for  the 
improvement  of  social  conditions,  a  readiness  with 


172  SOCIETY. 

work  and  influence  and  time  and  money  to  relieve 
suffering,  improve  sanitary  conditions,  promote 
education  and  morality,  remove  temptation  from 
the  weak,  open  reading-rooms  and  places  of  harmless 
resort  for  the  unoccupied  in  their  evening  hours,  to 
bind  together  persons  of  similar  tastes  and  pur- 
suits— these  are  the  marks  of  public  spirit;  these 
are  the  manifestations  of  social  virtue. 

Politeness  is  love  in  little  things.— Toward  indi- 
viduals whom  we  meet  in  social  ways  this  recog- 
nition of  our  common  nature  and  mutual  rights 
takes  the  form  of  politeness  and  courtesy.  Po- 
liteness is  proper  respect  for  human  personality. 
Rudeness  results  from  thinking  exclusively  about 
ourselves,  and  caring  nothing  for  the  feelings  of  any- 
body else.  The  sincere  and  generous  desire  to  bring 
the  greatest  pleasure  and  the  least  pain  to  every- 
one we  meet  will  go  a  long  way  toward  making  our 
manners  polite  and  courteous. 

Still,  society  has  agreed  upon  certain  more  or  less 
arbitrary  ways  for  facilitating  social  intercourse ;  it 
has  established  rules  for  conduct  on  social  occasions, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  prescribed  the  /orms  of 
words  that  shall  be  used,  the  modes  of  salutation 
that  shall  be  employed,  the  style  of  dress  that  shall 
be  worn,  and  the  like.  A  due  respect  for  society, 
and  for  the  persons  whom  we  meet  socially,  demands 
that  we  shall  acquaint  ourselves  with  these  rules  of 
etiquette,  and  observe  them  in  our  social  inter- 
course. Like  all  forms,  social  formalities  are  easily 
carried  to  excess,  and  frequently  kill  the  spirit  they 


THE  REWARD.  173 

are  intended  to  express.  As  a  basis,  however,  for 
the  formation  of  acquaintances,  and  for  large  social 
gatherings,  a  good  deal  of  formality  is  necessary. 

THE  REWARD. 

The  complete  expression  and  outgo  of  our 
nature  is  freedom. — Since  man  is  by  nature  social, 
since  sympathy,  friendship,  co-operation  and  affec- 
tion are  essential  attributes  of  man,  it  follows  that 
the  exercise  of  these  social  virtues  is  itself  the  satis- 
faction of  what  is  essentially  ourselves. 

The  man  who  fulfills  his  social  duties  is  free, 
for  he  finds  an  open  field  and  an  unfettered 
career  for  the  most  essential  faculties  of  his  nature. 
The  social  man  always  has  friends  whom  he  loves; 
work  which  he  feels  to  be  worth  doi-ng  ;  interests 
which  occupy  his  highest  powers  ;  causes  which  ap- 
peal to  his  deepest  sympathies.  Such  a  life  of 
rounded  activity,  of  arduous  endeavor,  of  full,  free 
self-expression  is  in  itself  the  highest  possible  re- 
ward. It  is  the  only  form  of  satisfaction  worthy  of 
man.  It  is  in  the  deepest  sense  of  the  word  success. 
For  as  Lowell  says : 

All  true  whole  men  succeed,  for  what  is  worth 
Success's  name,  unless  it  be  the  thought, 
The  inward  surety  to  have  carried  out 
A  noble  purpose  to  a  noble  end. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

Instead  of  regarding  society  as  a  whole,  and 
self  as  a  member  of  that  whole,  it  is  possible  to 
regard  self  as  distinct  and  separate  from  society, 


174  SOCIETY. 

and  to  make  the  interests  of  this  separated  and 
detached  self  the  end  and  aim  of  action. — This 
temptation  is  self-interest.  It  consists  in  placing 
the  individual  self,  with  its  petty,  private,  personal 
interests,  above  the  social  self,  with  the  large,  pub- 
lic, generous  interests  of  the  social  order. 

From  one  point  of  view  it  is  easy  to  cheat  society, 
and  deprive  it  of  its  due.  We  can  shirk  our  social 
obligations  ;  we  can  dodge  subscriptions  ;  we  can 
stay  at  home  when  we  ought  to  be  at  the  committee 
meeting,  or  the  public  gathering;  we  can  decline  in- 
vitations and  refuse  elections  to  arduous  ofifices,  and 
at  the  same  time  escape  many  of  the  worst  penalties 
which  would  naturally  follow  from  our  neglect.  For 
others,  more  generous  and  noble  than  we,  will  step 
in  and  take  upon  themselves  our  share  of  the  public 
burdens  in  addition  to  their  own.  We  may  flatter 
ourselves  that  we  have  done  a  very  shrewd  thing  in 
contriving  to  reap  the  benefits  without  bearing  the 
burdens  of  society.  There  is,  as  we  shall  see,  a 
penalty  for  negligence  of  social  duty,  and  that  too 
most  sure  and  terrible.  Self-interest  is  the  seed,  of 
which  meanness  is  the  full-grown  plant,  and  of 
which  social  constraint  and  slavishness  are  the  final 
fruits. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

Lack  of  public  spirit  is  meanness.— The  mean 
man  is  he  who  acknowledges  no  interest  and  recog- 
nizes no  obligation  outside  the  narrow  range  of  his 
strictly  private  concerns.     As  long  as  he  is  comfort- 


THE    VICE   OF  EXCESS.  I7S 

able  he  will  take  no  steps  to  relieve  the  distress  of 
others.  If  his  own  premises  are  healthy,  he  will 
contribute  nothing  to  improve  the  sanitary  condi- 
tion of  his  village  or  city.  As  long  as  his  own  prop- 
erty is  secure  he  cares  not  how  many  criminals  are 
growing  up  in  the  street,  how  many  are  sent  to 
prison,  or  how  they  are  treated  after  they  come 
there.  He  favors  the  cheapest  schools,  the  poorest 
roads,  the  plainest  public  buildings,  because  he 
would  rather  keep  his  money  in  his  own  pocket  than 
contribute  his  share  to  maintain  a  thoroughly  effi- 
cient and  creditable  public  service.  He  will  give 
nothing  he  can  help  giving,  do  nothing  he  can  help 
doing,  to  make  the  town  he  lives  in  a  healthier, 
happier,  purer,  wiser,  nobler  place.  Meanness  is  the 
sacrifice  of  the  great  social  whole  to  the  individual. 
It  is  selfishness,  stinginess,  and  ingratitude  com- 
bined. It  is  the  disposition  to  receive  all  that  so- 
ciety contributes  to  the  individual,  and  to  give  noth- 
ing in  return.  It  is  a  willingness  to  appropriate  the 
fruits  of  labors  in  which  one  refuses  to  bear  a  part. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

The  ofificious  person  is  ready  for  any  and  every 
kind  of  public  service,  providing  he  can  be  at  the 
head  of  it.  There  is  no  end  to  the  work  he  will 
do  if  he  can  only  have  his  own  way. — He  wants  to 
be  prime  mover  in  every  enterprise  :  to  be  chairman 
of  the  committee  ;  to  settle  every  question  that 
comes  up  ;  to  ''  run  "  things  according  to  his  own 
ideas.     Such   people  are   often  very  useful.     It  is 


176  SOCIETY, 

generally  wisest  not  to  meddle  much  with  them. 
The  work  may  not  be  done  in  the  best  way  by 
these  officious  people  ;  but  without  them  a  great 
deal  of  public  work  would  never  be  done  at  all. 
The  vice,  however,  seriously  impairs  one's  use- 
fulness. The  officious  person  is  hard  to  work 
with.  Men  refuse  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
him.  And  so  he  is  left  to  do  his  work  for  the 
most  part  alone.  Officiousness  is,  in  reality, 
social  ambition  ;  and  that  again  as  we  saw 
resolves  itself  into  sentimentality ; — the  regard 
for  what  we  and  others  think  of  ourselves,  rather 
than  straightforward  devotion  to  the  ends  which 
we  pretend  to  be  endeavoring  to  promote. 
Officiousness  is  self-seeking  dressed  up  in  the  uni- 
form of  service.  The  officious  person,  instead  of 
losing  his  private  self  in  the  larger  life  of  society, 
tries  to  use  the  larger  interests  of  society  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  them  gratify  his  own  personal 
vanity  and  sense  of  self-importance. 

THE  PENALTY. 

All  meanness  and  self-seeking  are  punished  by 
lack  of  freedom  or  constraint ;  though  frequently 
the  constraint  is  inward  and  spiritual  rather  than 
outward  and  physical. — We  have  seen  that  to  the 
man  of  generous  public  spirit  society  presents  a 
career  for  the  unfolding  and  expansion  of  his  social 
powers.  To  such  a  man  society,  with  its  claims  and 
obligations,  is  an  enlargement  of  his  range  of  sym- 
pathy, a  widening  of  his  spiritual  horizon,  and   on 


THE  PENALTY.  177 

that  account  a  means  of  larger  liberty  and  fuller 
freedom. 

To  the  mean  and  selfish  man,  on  the  contrary, 
society  presents  itself  as  an  alien  force,  a  hard  task- 
master, making  severe  requirements  upon  his  time, 
imposing  cramping  limitations  on  his  self-indulgence, 
levying  heavy  taxes  upon  his  substance  ;  prescribing 
onerous  rules  and  regulations  for  his  conduct. 

By  excluding  society  from  the  sph-ere  of  interests 
with  which  he  indentifies  himself,  the  mean  man, 
by  his  own  meanness,  makes  society  antagonistic 
to  him,  and  himself  its  reluctant  and  unwilling 
slave.  Serve  it  to  some  extent  he  must;  but 
the  selfishness  and  meanness  of  his  own  attitude 
toward  it,  makes  social  service,  not  the  willing  and 
joyous  offering  of  a  free  and  devoted  heart,  but 
the  slavish  submission  of  a  reluctant  will,  forced  to 
do  the  little  that  it  cannot  help  doing  by  legal  or 
social  compulsion. 

To  him  society  is  not  a  sphere  of  freedom,  in 
which  his  own  nature  is  enlarged,  intensified, 
liberated ;  and  so  made  richer,  happier,  nobler, 
and  freer.  To  him  society  is  an  external  power, 
compelling  him  to  make  sacrifices  he  does  not 
want  to  make  ;  to  do  things  he  does  not  want  to 
do  ;  to  contribute  money  which  he  grudges,  and 
to  conform  to  requirements  which  he  hates.  By  try- 
ing to  save  the  life  of  self-interest  and  meanness, 
he  loses  the  life  of  generous  aims,  noble  ideals, 
and  heroic  self  devotion. 

By  refusing  the  career  of   noble    freedom   which 


17^  SOCIETY. 

social  service  offers  to  each  member  of  the  social 
body,  he  is  constrained  to  obey  a  social  law  which 
he  has  not  helped  to  create,  and  to  serve  the  inter- 
ests of  a  society  of  which  he  has  refused  to  be 
in  spirit  and  truth  a  part. 

This  living  in  a  world  which  we  do  not  heartily 
acknowledge  as  our  own  ;  this  subjection  to  an  au- 
thority which  we  do  not  in  principle  recognize  and 
welcome  as  the  voice  of  our  own  better,  larger, 
wiser,  social  self, — this  is  constraint  and  slavery  in 
its  basest  and  most  degrading  form. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Self. 

Hitherto  we  have  considered  things,  relations, 
persons,  and  institutions  outside  ourselves  as  the 
objects  which  together  constitute  our  environment. 

The  self  is  not  a  new  object,  but  rather  the  bond 
which  binds  together  into  unity  all  the  experiences 
of  life.  It  is  their  relation  to  this  conscious  self 
which  gives  to  all  objects  their  moral  worth.  Every 
act  upon  an  object  reacts  upon  ourselves.  The  vir- 
tues and  vices,  the  rewards  and  penalties  that  we 
have  been  studying  are  the  various  reactions  of  con- 
duct upon  ourselves.  This  chapter  then  will  be  a 
comprehensive  review  and  summary  of  all  that  has 
gone  before.  Instead  of  taking  one  by  one  the  par- 
ticular reactions  which  follow  particular  acts  with 
reference  to  particular  objects,  we  shall  now  look  at 
conduct  as  a  whole  ;  regard  our  environment  in  its 
totality  ;  and  consider  duty,  virtue,  and  self  in  their 
unity. 

THE  DUTY. 

The  duty  we  owe  to  ourselves  is  the  realization 
of  our  capacities  and  powers  in  harmony  with 
each  other,  and  in  proportion  to  their  worth  as 
elements  in  a  complete  individual  and  social 
life. — We  have  within  us  the  capacity  for  an  ever 

179 


i8o  SELF. 

increasing  fullness  and  richness  and  intensity  of 
life.  The  materials  out  of  which  this  life  is  to  be 
developed  are  ready  to  our  hands  in  those  objects 
which  we  have  been  considering.  One  way  of  con- 
duct toward  these  objects,  which  we  have  called 
duty;  one  attitude  of  mind  and  will  toward  them 
which  we  have  called  virtue,  leads  to  those  com- 
pletions and  fulfillments  of  ourselves  which  we 
have  called  rewards.  Duty  t4ien  to  self;  duty  in 
its  most  comprehensive  aspect,  is  the  obligation 
which  the  existence  of  capacity  within  and  material 
without  imposes  on  us  to  bring  the  two  together  in 
harmonious  relations,  so  as  to  realize  the  capacities 
and  powers  of  ourselves  and  of  others,  and  promote 
society's  well  being.  In  simpler  terms  our  funda- 
mental duty  is  to  make  the  most  of  ourselves ;  and 
to  become  as  large  and  genuine  a  part  of  the  social 
world  in  which  we  live  as  it  is  possible  for  us  to  be. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

The  habit  of  seeking  to  realize  the  highest  ca- 
pacities and  widest  relationships  of  our  nature 
in  every  act  is  conscientiousness.  Conscience 
is  our  consciousness  of  the  ideal  in  conduct 
and  character.  Conscience  is  the  knowledge 
of  our  duty,  coupled  as  that  knowledge  always 
is  with  the  feeling  that  we  ought  to  do  it.— 
Knowledge  of  any  kind  calls  up  some  feeling  ap- 
propriate to  the  fact  known.  Knowledge  that  a 
given  act  would  realize  my  ideal  calls  up  the  feel- 
ing of  dissatisfaction  with  myself  until  that  act  is 


THE   VIRTUE,  i8l 

performed  ;  because  that  is  the  feeling  appropriate 
to  the  recognition  of  an  unrealized  yet  attainable 
ideal.  Conscience  is  not  a  mysterious  faculty  of 
our  nature.  It  is  simply  thought  and  feeling, 
recognizing  and  responding  to  the  fact  of  duty,  and 
reaching  out  toward  virtue  and  excellence. 

The  objective  worth  of  the  deliverances  and  dic- 
tates of  the  conscience  of  the  individual,  depends  on 
the  degree  of  moral  enlightenment  and  sensitiveness 
he  has  attained.  The  conscience  of  an  educated 
Christian  has  a  worth  and  authority  which  the  con- 
science of  the  benighted  savage  has  not.  Since 
conscience  is  the  recognition  of  the  ideal  of  conduct 
and  character,  every  new  appreciation  of  duty  and 
virtue  gives  to  conscience  added  strength  and  clear- 
ness. 

The  absolute  authority  of  conscience.— Rela- 
tively  to  the  individual  himself,  at  the  time  of 
acting,  his  own  individual  conscience  is  the  final  and 
absolute  authority.  The  man  who  does  what  his 
conscience  tells  him,  does  the  best  that  he  can  do. 
For  he  realizes  the  highest  ideal  that  is  present  to 
his  mind.  A  wiser  man  than  he  might  do  better 
than  this  man,  acting  according  to  his  conscience,  is 
able  to  do.  But  this  man,  with  the  limited  knowl- 
edge and  imperfect  ideal  which  he  actually  has,  can 
do  no  more  than  obey  his  conscience  which  bids  him 
realize  the  highest  ideal  that  he  knows.  The  act  of 
the  conscientious  man  may  be  right  or  wrong, 
judged  by  objective,  social  standards.  Judged  by 
subjective  standards,  seen  from  within,  every  con- 


i82  SELF, 

scientious  act  is,  relatively  to  the  individual  himself, 
a  right  act.  We  should  spare  no  pains  to  enlighten 
our  conscience,  and  make  it  the  reflection  of  the  most 
exalted  ideals  which  society  has  reached.  Hav- 
ing done  this,  conscience  becomes  to  us  the  au- 
thoritative judge  for  us  of  what  we  shall,  and  what 
we  shall  not  do.  The  light  of  conscience  will  be 
clear  and  pure,  or  dim  and  clouded,  according  to  the 
completeness  of  our  moral  environment,  training, 
and  insight.  But  clear  or  dim,  high  or  low,  sensitive 
or  dull,  the  light  of  conscience  is  the  only  light  we 
have  to  guide  us  in  the  path  of  virtue.  In  hours  of 
leisure  and  study  it  is  our  privilege  to  inform  and 
clarify  this  consciousness  of  the  ideal.  That  has 
been  the  purpose  of  the  preceding  pages.  When 
the  time  for  action  comes,  then,  without  a  murmur, 
without  an  instant's  hesitation,  the  voice  of  con- 
science should  be  implicitly  obeyed.  Conscientious- 
ness is  the  form  which  all  the  virtues  take,  when 
viewed  as  determinations  of  the  self.  It  is  the  asser- 
tion of  the  ideal  of  the  self  in  its  every  act. 

THE   REWARD. 

Character  the  form  in  which  the  results  of  vir- 
tuous conduct  is  preserved. — It  is  neither  possi- 
ble nor  desirable  to  solve  each  question  of  conduct 
as  it  arises  by  conscious  and  explicit  reference  to 
rules  and  principles.  Were  we  to  attempt  to  do  so 
it  would  make  us  prigs  and  prudes. 

What  then  is  the  use  of  studying  at  such  length 
the  temptations  and  duties,  the  virtues  and  vices, 


THE  REWARD.  183 

with  their  rewards  and  penalties,  if  all  these  things 
are  to  be  forgotten  and  ignored  when  the  occasions 
for  practical  action  arrive  ? 

The  study  of  ethics  has  the  same  use  as  the 
study  of  writing,  grammar,  or  piano-playing.  In 
learning  to  write  we  have  to  think  precisely  how 
each  letter  is  formed,  how  one  letter  is  connected 
with  another,  where  to  use  capitals,  where  to 
punctuate  and  the  like.  But  after  we  have 
become  proficient  in  writing,  we  do  all  this 
without  once  thinking  explicitly  of  any  of  these 
things.  In  learning  to  play  the  piano  we  have  to 
count  out  loud  in  order  to  keep  time  correctly,  and 
we  are  obliged  to  stop  and  think  just  where  to  put 
the  finger  in  order  to  strike  each  separate  note. 
But  the  expert  player  does  all  these  things  with- 
out the  slightest  conscious  effort. 

Still,  though  the  particular  rules  and  principles 
are  not  consciously  present  in  each  act  of  the  finished 
writer  or  musician,  they  are  not  entirely  absent. 
When  the  master  of  these  arts  makes  a  mistake,  he 
recognizes  it  instantly,  and  corrects  it,  or  endeavors 
to  avoid  its  repetition.  This  shows  that  the  rule  is 
not  lost.  It  has  ceased  to  be  before  the  mind  as  a 
distinct  object  of  consciousness.  It  is  no  longer 
needed  in  that  form  for  ordinary  purposes.  In- 
stead, it  has  come  to  be  a  part  of  the  mind  itself — a 
way  in  which  the  mind  works  instinctively.  As 
long  as  the  mind  works  in  conformity  with  the  prin- 
ciple, it  is  not  distinctly  recognized,  because  there 
is   no   need  for   such   recognition.      The   principle 


1 84  ^        SELF, 

comes  to  consciousness  only  as  a  power  to  check 
or  restrain  acts  that  are  at  variance  with  it. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  the  practical  man  carries 
with  him  his  ethical  principles.  He  does  not  stop 
to  reason  out  the  relation  of  duty  and  virtue  to  re- 
ward, or  of  temptation  and  vice  to  penalty,  before 
he  decides  to  help  the  unfortunate,  or  to  be  faithful 
to  a  friend,  or  to  vote  on  election  day.  This  trained, 
habitual  will,  causing  acts  to  be  performed  in  conform- 
ity to  duty  and  virtue,  yet  without  conscious  refer- 
ence to  the  explicit  principles  that  underlie  them, 
is  character. 

It  is  chiefly  in  the  formation  of  character  that  the 
explicit  recognition  of  ethical  principles  has  its 
value.  Character  is  a  storage  battery  in  which  the 
power  acquired  by  our  past  acts  is  accumulated  and 
preserved  for  future  use. 

It  is  through  this  power  of  character,  this  tendency 
of  acts  of  a  given  nature  to  repeat  and  perpetuate 
themselves,  that  we  give  unity  and  consistency  to 
our  lives.  This  also  is  the  secret  of  our  power  of 
growth.  As  soon  as  one  virtue  has  become  habitual 
and  enters  into  our  character,  we  can  leave  it,  trust- 
ing it  in  the  hands  of  this  unconscious  power  of  self- 
perpetuation  ;  and  then  we  can  turn  the  energy 
thus  freed  toward  the  acquisition  of  new  virtues. 

Day  by  day  we  are  turning  over  more  and  more 
of  our  lives  to  this  domain  of  character.  Hence  it 
is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  allow  nothing  to 
enter  this  almost  irrevocable  state  of  unconscious, 
habitual  character  that  has  not  first  received  the  ap- 


THE  REWARD.  185 

proval  of  conscience,  the  sanction  of  duty,  and  the 
stamp  of  virtue.  Character,  once  formed  in  a  wrong 
direction,  may  be  corrected.  But  it  can  be  done 
only  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  and  by  a  process 
as  hard  to  resolve  upon  as  the  amputation  of  a 
limb  or  the  plucking  out  of  an  eye. 

The  greater  part  of  the  principles  of  ethics  we 
knew  before  we  undertook  this  formal  study.  We 
learned  them  from  our  parents  ;  we  picked  them 
up  in  contact  with  one  another  in  the  daily  inter- 
course of  life.  The  value  of  our  study  will  not  con- 
sist so  much  in  new  truths  learned,  as  in  the  clearer 
and  sharper  outlines  which  it  will  have  given  to 
some  of  the  features  of  the  moral  ideal.  The  defi- 
nite results  of  such  a  study  we  cannot  mark  or 
measure.  Just  as  sunshine  and  rain  come  to  the 
plants  and  trees,  and  then  seem  to  vanish,  leaving 
no  visible  or  tangible  trace  behind  ;  yet  the  plants 
and  trees  are  different  from  what  they  were  before, 
and  have  the  heat  and  moisture  stored  up  within 
their  structure  to  burst  forth  into  fresher  and  larger 
life  ;  in  like  manner,  though  we  should  forget  every 
formal  statement  that  we  have  read,  yet  we  could 
not  fail  to  be  affected  by  the  incorporation  within 
ourselves  in  the  form  of  character  of  some  of  these 
principles  of  duty  and  virtue  which  we  have  been 
considering.  It  has  been  said  :  ''  Sow  an  act,  and  you 
reap  a  habit ;  sow  a  habit  and  you  reap  a  character ; 
sow  a  character  and  you  reap  a  destiny." 


1 86  SELF. 


THE    TEMPTATION. 


Pleasure  not  a  reliable  guide  to  conduct. — The 

realization  of  capacity  brings  with  it  pleasure.  The 
harmonious  realization  of  all  our  powers  would  bring 
harmonious  and  permanent  pleasure  or  happiness. 
Pleasure  is  always  to  be  welcomed  as  a  sign  of  health 
and  activity.  Other  things  being  equal,  the  more 
pleasure  we  have  the  better.  It  is  possible  how- 
ever to  abstract  the  pleasure  from  the  activity  which 
gives  rise  to  it,  and  make  pleasure  the  end  for  which 
we  act.  This  pursuit  of  pleasure  for  pleasure's 
sake  is  delusive  and  destructive.  It  is  delusive,  be- 
cause the  direct  aim  at  pleasure  turns  us  aside  from 
the  direct  aim  at  objects.  And  when  we  cease  to  aim 
directly  at  objects,  we  begin  to  lose  the  pleasure 
and  zest  which  only  a  direct  pursuit  of  objects  can 
produce.  For  instance,  we  all  know  that  if  we  go 
to  a  picnic  or  a  party  thinking  all  the  while  about 
having  a  good  time,  and  asking  ourselves  every  now 
and  then  whether  we  are  having  a  good  time  or  not^ 
we  find  the  picnic  or  party  a  dreadful  bore,  and  our- 
selves perfectly  miserable.  We  know  that  the  whole 
secret  of  having  a  good  time  on  such  occasions  is 
to  get  interested  in  something  else :  a  game,  a  boat- 
ride,  anything  that  makes  us  forget  ourselves  and 
our  pleasures,  and  helps  us  to  lose  ourselves  in  the 
eager,  arduous,  absorbing  pursuit  of  something  out- 
side ourselves.      Then  we  have  a  glorious  time. 

The  direct  pursuit  of    pleasure  is  destructive  of 
character,  because  it  judges  things  by  the  way  they 


THE    TEMPTATION.  1 87 

affect  our  personal  feelings  ;  which  is  a  very  shallow 
and  selfish  standard  of  judgment;  and  because  it 
centers  interest  in  the  merely  emotional  side  of  our 
nature,  which  is  peculiar  to  ourselves  ;  instead  of  in 
the  rational  part  of  our  nature  which  is  common  to 
all  men,  and  unites  us  to  our  fellows. 

Duty  demands  not  the  hap-hazard  realization  of 
this  or  that  side  of  our  nature.  Yet  this  is  what  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure  would  lead  to.  Duty  demands 
the  realization  of  all  our  faculties,  in  harmony  with 
each  other,  and  in  proportion  to  their  worth.  And 
to  this  proportioned  and  harmonious  realization, 
pleasure,  pure  and  simple,  is  no  guide  at  all.  Hence, 
as  Aristotle  remarks,  "  In  all  cases  we  must  be  spe- 
cially on  our  guard  against  pleasant  things  and 
against  pleasure ;  for  we  can  scarce  judge  her  im- 
partially." "■  Again,  as  the  exercises  of  our  faculties 
differ  in  goodness  and  badness,  and  some  are  to  be 
desired  and  some  to  be  shunned,  so  do  the  several 
pleasures  differ;  for  each  exercise  has  its  proper  pleas- 
ure. The  pleasure  which  is  proper  to  a  good  activ- 
ity, then,  is  good,  and  that  which  is  proper  to  one 
that  is  not  good  is  bad."  "  As  the  exercises  of  the 
faculties  vary,  so  do  their  respective  pleasures." 

To  the  same  effect  John  Stuart  Mill  says  that  the 
pleasures  which  result  from  the  exercise  of  the 
higher  faculties  are  to  be  preferred.  "•  It  is  better 
to  be  a  human  being  dissatisfied,  than  a  pig  satisfied  ; 
better  to  be  Socrates  dissatisfied  than  a  fool  satis- 
fied." Whether  it  is  possible  to  stretch,  and  qualify, 
and  attenuate  the  conception  of  pleasure  so  as  to 


1 88  SELF. 

make  it  cover  the  ideal  of  human  life,  without  hav- 
ing it,  like  a  soap-bubble,  burst  in  the  process,  is  a 
question  foreign  to  the  practical  purpose  of  this 
book.  That  pleasure,  as  ordinarily  understood  by 
plain  people,  is  a  treacherous,  dangerous,  and  ruin- 
ous guide  to  conduct,  moralists  of  every  school 
declare.  Pleasure  is  the  most  subtle  and  universal 
form  of  temptation.  Pleasure  is  the  accompaniment 
of  all  exercise  of  power.  When  it  comes  rightly  it 
is  to  be  accepted  with  thankfulness.  We  must  re- 
member however  that  the  quality  of  the  act  deter- 
mines the  worth  of  the  pleasure;  and  that  the 
amount  of  pleasure  does  not  determine  the  quality  of 
the  act.  A  pleasant  act  may  be  right,  and  it  may  be 
wrong.  Whether  we  ought  to  do  it  or  not  must  in 
every  case  be  decided  on  higher  grounds. 

To  the  boy  who  says,  "I  should  like  to  be  some- 
thing that  would  make  me  a  great  man,  and  very 
happy  besides — something  that  would  not  hinder 
me  from  having  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  " — George 
Eliot  represents  "Romola"  as  replying,  "  That  is  not 
easy,  my  Lillo.  It  is  only  a  poor  sort  of  happiness 
that  could  evercome  by  caring  very  much  about  our 
own  narrow  pleasures.  We  can  only  have  the  highest 
happiness,  such  as  goes  along  with  being  a  great 
man,  by  having  wide  thoughts,  and  much  feeling 
for  the  rest  of  the  world  as  well  as  for  ourselves ; 
and  this  sort  of  happiness  often  brings  so  much  pain 
with  it  that  we  can  only  tell  it  from  pain  by  its  being 
what  we  would  choose  before  everything  else, 
because  our  souls  see  it  is  good.     And  so,  my  Lillo, 


THE    VICE   OF  DEFECT.  1 89 

if  you  mean  to  act  nobly  and  seek  to  know  the  best 
things  God  has  put  within  reach  of  men,  you  must 
learn  to  fix  your  mind  on  that  end,  and  not  on  what 
will  happen  to  you  because  of  it.  And  remem- 
ber, if  you  were  to  choose  something  lower,  and 
make  it  the  rule  of  your  life  to  seek  your  own 
pleasure  and  escape  from  what  is  disagreeable,  cala- 
mity might  come  just  the  same ;  and  it  would  be 
calamity  falling  on  a  base  mind,  which  is  the  one 
form  of  sorrow  that  has  no  balm  in  it,  and  that  may 
well  make  a  man  say — It  would  have  been  bet- 
ter forme  if  I  had  never  been  born." 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

The  unscrupulous  man  acts  as  he  happens  to 
feel  like  acting. — Whatever  course  of  conduct  pre- 
sents itself  as  pleasant,  or  profitable,  or  easy,  he 
adopts.  Anything  is  good  enough  for  him.  He 
seeks  to  embody  no  ideal,  aims  consistently  at  no 
worthy  end,  acknowledges  no  duty,  but  simply 
yields  himself  a  passive  instrument  for  lust,  or 
avarice,  or  cowardice,  or  falsehood  to  play  upon. 
Refusing  to  be  the  servant  of  virtue  he  becomes  the 
slave  of  vice.  Disowning  the  authority  of  duty  and 
the  ideal,  he  becomes  the  tool  of  appetite,  the  foot- 
ball of  circumstance.  Unscrupulousness  is  the  form 
of  all  the  vices  of  defect,  when  viewed  in  relation  to 
that  absence  of  regard  for  realization  of  self,  which 
is  their  common  characteristic. 


1 90  SELF. 

THE  VICE   OF  EXCESS. 

The  exclusive  regard  for  self,  in  abstraction 
from  those  objects  and  social  relationships 
through  which  alone  the  self  can  be  truly  real- 
ized, leads  to  formalism. — Formalism  keeps  the 
law  simply  for  the  sake  of  keeping  it.  Conscientious- 
ness, if  it  is  wise  and  well-balanced,  reverences  the 
duties  and  requirements  of  the  moral  life,  because 
these  duties  are  the  essential  conditions  of  individ- 
ual and  social  well-being.  The  law  is  a  means  to 
well-being,  which  is  the  end.  Formalism  makes 
the  law  an  end  in  itself ;  and  will  even  sacrifice 
well-being  to  law,  when  the  two    squarely  conflict. 

Extreme  cases  in  which  moral  laws  may  be 
suspended. — The  particular  duties,  virtues,  and 
laws  which  society  has  established  and  recognized 
are  the  expressions  of  reason  and  experience 
declaring  the  conditions  of  human  well-being.  As 
such  they  deserve  our  profoundest  respect  ;  our  un- 
swerving obedience.  Still  it  is  impossible  for  rules 
to  cover  every  case.  There  are  legitimate,  though 
very  rare,  exceptions,  even  to  moral  laws  and  duties. 
For  instance  it  is  a  duty  to  respect  the  property 
of  others.  Yet  to  save  the  life  of  a  person  who  is 
starving,  we  are  justified  in  taking  the  property  of 
another  without  asking  his  consent.  To  save  a  per- 
son from  drowning,  we  may  seize  a  boat  belonging 
to  another.  To  spread  the  news  of  a  fire,  we  may 
take  the  first  horse  we  find,  without  inquiring  who 
is  the  owner.     To  save  a  sick  person  from  a  fatal 


THE   VICE   OF  EXCESS.  I9I 

shock,  we  may  withold  facts  in  violation  of  the 
strict  duty  of  truthfulness.  To  promote  an  impor- 
tant public  measure,  we  may  deliberately  break 
down  our  health,  spend  our  private  fortune,  and  re- 
duce ourselves  to  helpless  beggary.  Such  acts 
violate  particular  duties.  They  break  moral  laws. 
And  yet  they  all  are  justified  in  these  extreme 
cases  by  the  higher  law  of  love  ;  by  the  greater  duty 
of  devotion  to  the  highest  good  of  our  fellow-men. 
The  doctrine  that  "  the  end  justifies  the  means  "  is 
a  mischievous  and  dangerous  doctrine.  Stated  in 
that  unqualified  form,  it  is  easily  made  the  excuse 
for  all  sorts  of  immorality.  The  true  solution  of 
the  seeming  conflict  of  duties  lies  in  the  recognition 
that  the  larger  social  good  justifies  the  sacrifice  of 
the  lesser  social  good  when  the  two  conflict.  One 
must  remember,  however,  that  the  universal  recog- 
nition of  established  duties  and  laws  is  itself  the 
greatest  social  good  ;  and  only  the  most  extreme 
cases  can  justify  a  departure  from  the  path  of 
generally  recognized  and  established  moral  law. 

These  extreme  cases  when  they  occur,  however, 
must  be  dealt  with  bravely.  The  form  of  law  and 
rule  must  be  sacrificed  to  the  substance  of  righte- 
ousness and  love  when  the  two  conflict.  As  Prof- 
essor Marshall  remarks  in  the  chapter  of  his  *'  His- 
tory of  Greek  Philosophy"  which  deals  with  Socrates, 
"  The  highest  activity  does  not  always  take  the 
form  of  conformity  to  rule.  There  are  critical  mo- 
ments when  rules  fail,  when,  in  fact,  obedience  to 
rule  would  mean  disobedience  to  that  higher  law,  of 


igi  SELF. 

which  rules  and  formulae  are  at  best  only  an  adum- 
bration." 

There  is  nothing  more  contemptible  than  that 
timid,  self-seeking  virtue  which  will  sacrifice  the 
obvious  well-being  of  others  to  save  itself  the  pain 
of  breaking  a  rule.  There  is  nothing  more  pitiful 
than  that  self-righteous  virtue  which  does  right, 
not  because  it  loves  the  right,  still  less  because  it 
loves  the  person  who  is  affected  by  its  action,  but 
simply  because  it  wants  to  keep  its  own  sweet  sense 
of  self-righteousness  unimpaired.  Mrs.  Browning 
gives  us  a  clear  example  of  this  "harmless  life,  she 
called  a  virtuous  life,"  in  the  case  of  the  frigid 
aunt  of  "Aurora  Leigh"  : 

From  that  day,  she  did 
Her  duty  to  me  (I  appreciate  it 
In  her  own  word  as  spoken  to  herself), 
Her  duty,  in  large  measure,  well-pressed  out. 
But  measured  always.     She  was  generous,  bland, 
More  courteous  than  was  tender,  gave  me  still 
The  first  place, — as  if  fearful  that  God's  saints 
Would  look  down  suddenly  and  say,  '  Herein 
You  missed  a  point,  I  think,  through  lack  of  love.' 

THE  PENALTY. 

Just  as  continuity  in  virtue  strengthens  and 
unifies  character  and  makes  life  a  consistent  and 
harmonious  whole  ;  so  self-indulgence  in  vicious 
pleasures  disorganizes  a  man's  life  and  eats  the 
heart  out  of  him. — Corrupt  means  literally  broken. 
The  corrupt  man  has  no  soundness,  no  solidity,  no 
unity    in    his    life.     He    cannot    respect   himself. 


THE  PEMALTY.  193 

Others  cannot  put  confidence  in  him.  There  is  no 
principle  binding  each  part  of  his  life  to  every  other, 
and  holding  the  whole  together.  The  other  words 
by  which  we  describe  such  a  life  all  spring  from  the 
same  conception.  We  call  such  a  person  dissolute; 
and  dissolute  means  literally  separated,  loosed, 
broken  apart.  We  call  him  dissipated  ;  and  dissi- 
pated means  literally  scattered,  torn  apart,  thrown 
away. 

These  forms  of  statement  all  point  to  the  same 
fact,  that  the  unscrupulous  pleasure-seeker,  the  sel- 
fish, vicious  man  has  no  consistent,  continuous,  co- 
herent life  whatever.  *'  The  unity  of  his  being,"  as 
Janet  says,  "  is  lost  in  the  multiplicity  of  his  sensa- 
tions." His  life  is  a  mere  series  of  disconnected 
fragments.  There  is  no  growth,  no  development. 
There  is  nothing  on  which  he  can  look  with  ap- 
proval ;  no  consistent  career  of  devotion  to  worthy 
objective  ends,  the  fruits  of  which  can  be  witnessed 
in  the  improvement  of  the  world  in  which  he  has 
lived,  and  stored  up  in  the  character  which  he  has 
formed. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

In  the  last  chapter  we  saw  that  the  particular  ob- 
jects and  duties  which  make  up  our  environment 
and  moral  life  are  not  so  many  separate  affairs ;  but 
all  have  a  common  relation  to  the  self,  and  its  reali- 
zation. We  saw  that  this  common  relation  to  the 
self  gives  unity  to  the  world  of  objects,  the  life  of 
duty,  the  nature  of  virtue,  and  the  character  which 
crowns  right  living. 

There  is,  however,  a  deeper,  more  comprehensive 
unity  in  the  moral  world  than  that  which  each  man 
constructs  for  his  individual  self.  The  world  of  ob- 
jects is  included  in  a  universal  order.  The  several 
duties  are  parts  of  a  comprehensive  righteousness, 
which  includes  the  acts  of  all  men  within  its  right- 
ful sway.  The  several  virtues  are  so  many  aspects 
of  one  all-embracing  moral  ideal.  The  rewards 
and  penalties  which  follow  virtue  and  vice  are  the 
expression  of  a  constitution  of  things  which  makes 
for  righteousness.  The  Being  whose  thought  in- 
cludes all  objects  in  one  comprehensive  universe  of 
reason;  whose  will  is  uttered  in  the  voice  of  duty; 
whose  holiness  is  revealed  in  the  highest  ideal  of 
virtue  we  can  form  ;  and  whose  authority  is  declared 
in  those  eternal  and  indissoluble  bonds  which  bind 


THE   DUTY.  195 

virtue  and  reward,  vice    and    penalty,  together,  is 
God. 

THE  DUTY. 

Communion  with  God  is  the  safeguard  of  virtue, 
the  secret  of  resistance  to  temptation,  the  source 
of  moral  and  spiritual  power. — Our  minds  are  too 
small  to  carry  consciously  and  in  detail ;  our  wills 
are  too  frail  to  hold  in  readiness  at  every  moment 
the  principles  and  motives  of  moral  conduct.  God 
alone  is  great  enough  for  this. 

We  can  make  him  the  keeper  of  our  moral  precepts 
and  the  guardian  of  our  lives.  And  then  when  we 
are  in  need  of  guidance,  help,  and  strength,  we  can 
go  to  him,  and  by  devoutly  seeking  to  know  and  do 
his  will,  we  can  recover  the  principles  and  reinforce 
the  motives  of  right  conduct  that  we  have  in- 
trusted to  his  keeping  ;  and  ofttimes  we  get,  in  ad- 
dition, larger  views  of  duty  and  nobler  impulses  to 
virtue  than  we  have  ever  consciously  possessed  be- 
fore. Just  as  the  love  of  father  or  mother  clarifies  a 
child's  perception  of  what  is  right,  and  intensifies  his 
will  to  do  it,  so  the  love  of  God  has  power  to  make 
us  strong  to  resist  temptation,  resolute  to  do  our 
duty,  and  strenuous  in  the  endeavor  to  advance  the 
kingdom  of  righteousness  and  love. 

Into  the  particular  doctrines  and  institutions  of 
religion  it  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  book  to  enter. 
These  are  matters  which  each  individual  learns 
best  from  his  own  father  and  mother,  and  from 
the  church  in  which  he  has  been  brought  up.     Our 


19^  GOD, 

account  of  ethics,  however,  would  be  seriously  in- 
complete, were  we  to  omit  to  point  out  the  immense 
and  indispensable  strength  and  help  we  may  gain 
for  the  moral  life,  by  approaching  it  in  the  religious 
spirit. 

Ethics  and  religion  each  needs  the  other.— 
They  are  in  reality,  one  the  detailed  and  particular, 
the  other  the  comprehensive  and  universal  aspect  of 
the  same  world  of  duty  and  virtue.  Morality  with- 
out religion  is  a  cold,  dry,  dreary,  mass  of  discon- 
nected rules  and  requirements.  Religion  without 
morality,  is  an  empty,  formal,  unsubstantial  shadow. 
Only  when  the  two  are  united,  only  when  we  bring 
to  the  particular  duties  of  ethics  the  infinite  aspira- 
tion and  inspiration  of  religion,  and  give  to  the 
universal  forms  of  religion  the  concrete  contents  of 
human  and  temporal  relationships,  do  we  gain  a 
spiritual  life  which  is  at  the  same  time  clear  and 
strong,  elevated  and  practical,  ideal  and  real. 

THE  VIRTUE. 

Just  as  God  includes  all  objects  in  his  thought, 
all  duties  in  his  will,  all  virtues  in  his  ideal  ;  so 
the  man  who  communes  v/ith  him,  and  surren- 
ders his  will  to  him  in  obedience  and  trust  and 
love,  partakes  of  this  same  wholeness  and  holi- 
ness.— Loving  God,  he  is  led  to  love  all  that  God 
loves,  to  love  all  good.  And  holiness  is  the  love  of 
all  that  is  good  and  the  hatred  of  all  that  is  evil. 

Complete  holiness  is  not  wrought  out  in  its  con- 
crete relations  all  at  once,  nor  ever  in  this  earthly 


THE    VIRTUE,  1 97 

life,  by  the  religious,  any  more  than  by  the  moral 
man.  Temptations  are  frequent  all  along  the  way, 
and  the  falls  many  and  grevious  to  the  last.  But 
from  all  deliberately  cherished  identification  of  his 
inmost  heart  and  will  with  evil,  the  truly  religious 
man  is  forevermore  set  free.  From  the  moment 
one's  will  is  entirely  surrendered  to  God,  and  the 
divine  ideal  of  life  and  conduct  is  accepted,  a  new 
and   holy  life  begins. 

Old  temptations  may  surprise  him  into  unright- 
eous deeds;  old  habits  may  still  assert  themselves,- 
old  lusts  may  drift  back  on  the  returning  tides  of 
past  associations  ;  old  vices  may  continue  to  crop 
out. 

In  reality,  however,  they  are  already  dead.  They 
are  like  the  leaves  that  continue  to  look  green  upon 
the  branches  of  a  tree  that  has  been  cut  down  ;  or 
the  momentum  of  a  train  after  the  steam  is  shut  off 
and  the  brakes  are  on. 

God,  who  is  all-wise,  sees  that  in  such  a  man  sin  is 
in  principle  dead  ;  and  he  judges  him  accordingly. 
If  penitence  for  past  sins  and  present  falls  be  genu- 
ine ;  if  the  desire  to  do  his  will  be  earnest ;  He 
takes  the  will  for  the  deed,  penitence  for  perfor- 
mance, aspiration  for  attainment.  Such  judgment 
is  not  merely  merciful.  It  is  just.  Or  rather,  it  is 
the  blending  of  mercy  and  justice  in  love.  It  is 
judgment  according  to  the  deeper,  internal  aspect  of 
a  man,  instead  of  judgment  according  to  the  super- 
ficial, outward  aspect.  For  the  will  is  the  center 
and  core  of  personality.     What  a  man  desires  and 


1 98  GOD. 

Strives  for  with  all  his  heart,  that  he  is.  What  he 
repents  of  and  repudiates  with  the  whole  strength 
of  his  frail  and  imperfect  nature,  that  he  has  ceased 
to  be. 

Thus  religion,  or  whole-souled  devotion  to  God, 
gives  a  sense  of  completeness,  and  attainment,  and 
security,  and  peace,  which  mere  ethics,  or  adjust- 
ment to  the  separate  fragmentary  objects  which 
constitute  our  environment,  can  never  give.  The 
moral  life  is  from  its  very  nature  partial,  fragmen- 
tary, and  finite.  The  religious  life  by  penitence 
and  faith  and  hope  and  love,  rises  above  the  finite 
with  its  limitations,  and  the  temporal  with  its  sins 
and  failings,  and  lays  hold  on  the  infinite  ideal  and 
the  eternal  goodness,  with  its  boundless  horizon  and 
its  perfect  peace.  The  religious  life,  like  the  moral, 
is  progressive.  But,  as  Principal  Caird  remarks, 
"  It  is  progress,  not  towards,  but  within,  the  infinite." 
Union  with  God  in  sincere  devotion  to  his  holy  will, 
is  the  "promise  and  potency"  of  harmonious  rela- 
tions with  that  whole  ethical  and  spiritual  universe 
which  his  thought  and  will  includes. 

THE  REWARD. 

The  reward  of  communion  with  God  and  com- 
prehensive righteousness  of  conduct  is  spiritual 
life. — The  righteous  man,  the  man  who  walks  with 
God,  is  in  principle  and  purpose  indentified  with 
every  just  cause,  with  every  step  of  human  progress, 
with  every  sphere  of  man's  well-being.  To  him 
property  is  a  sacred  trust,  time    a  golden    oppor- 


THE  REWARD.  I99 

tunity,  truth  a  divine  revelation,  Nature  the 
visible  garment  of  God,  humanity  a  holy  brother- 
hood, the  family,  society,  and  the  state  are  God- 
ordained  institutions,  with  God-given  laws. 
Through  the  one  fundamental  devotion  of  his  heart 
and  will  to  God,  the  religious  man  ismade  a  par- 
taker in  all  these  spheres  of  life  in  which  the  creative 
will  of  God  is  progressively  revealed.  All  that  is 
God's  belong  to  the  religious  man.  For  he  is 
God's  child.  And  all  these  things  are  his  inheri- 
tance. 

To  the  religious  man,  therefore,  there  is  open  a 
boundless  career  for  service,  sacrifice,  devotion  and 
appropriation.  Every  power,  every  affection,  every 
aspiration  within  him  has  its  counterpart  in  the 
outward  universe.  The  universe  is  his  Father's 
house  ;  and  therefore  his  own  home.  All  that  it 
contains  are  so  many  opportunities  for  the  develop- 
ment and  realization  of  his  God-given  nature. 

To  dwell  in  active,  friendly,  loving  relation  to 
all  that  is  without ;  to  be 

wedded  to  this  goodly  universe 
In  love  and  holy  passion, 

to  be  heirs  with  God  of  the  spiritual  riches  it 
contains:  this  is  life  indeed.  ''The  gift  of  God 
is  eternal  life.  " 

Religion  is  the  crown  and  consummation 
of  ethics. — Religion  gathers  up  into  their  unity 
the  scattered  fragments  of  duty  and  virtue  which 
it  has  been  the  aim  of  our  ethical  studies  to  dis- 


200  GOD. 

cern  apart.  Religion  presents  as  the  will  of  the  all- 
wise,  all-loving  Father,  those  duties  and  virtues 
which  ethics  presents  as  the  conditions  of  our  own 
self-realization.  Religion  is  the  perfect  circle  of 
which  the  moral  virtues  are  the  constituent  arcs. 
Fullness  of  life  is  the  reward  of  righteousness,  the 
gift  of  God,  the  one  comprehensive  good,  of  which 
the  several  rewards  which  follow  the  practice  of 
particular  duties  and  virtues  are  the  constituent 
elements. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

The  universal  will  of  God,  working  in  con- 
formity with  impartial  law,  and  seeking  the 
equal  good  of  all,  often  seem.s  to  be  in  sharp  con- 
flict with  the  interests  of  the  individual  self.— If 

his  working  is  irresistible  we  are  tempted  to  repine 
and  rebel.  If  his  will  is  simply  declared,  and  left 
for  us  to  carry  out  by  the  free  obedience  of  our  wills, 
then  we  are  tempted  to  sacrifice  the  universal  good 
to  which  the  divine  will  points,  and  to  assert  instead 
some  selfish  interest  of  our  own.  Self-will  is,  from 
the  religious  point  of  view,  the  form  of  all  tempta- 
tion. The  ends  at  which  God  aims  when  he  bids  us 
sacrifice  our  immediate  private  interests  are  so  re- 
mote that  they  seem  to  us  unreal ;  and  often  they 
are  so  vast  that  we  fail  to  comprehend  them  at 
all.  In  such  crises  faith  alone  can  save  us — faith 
to  believe  that  God  is  wiser  than  we  are,  faith  to  be- 
lieve that  his  universal  laws  are  better  than  any  pri- 
vate exceptions  we  can  make  in  our  own  interest, 


THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT.  201 

faith  to  believe  that  the  universal  good  is  of  more 
consequence  than  our  individual  gain.  Such  faith 
is  hard  to  grasp  and  difficult  to  maintain  ;  and  con- 
sequently the  temptation  of  self-will  is  exceedingly 
seductive,  and  is  never  far  from  any  one  of  us. 

THE  VICE  OF  DEFECT. 

Sin  is  short-coming,  missing  the  mark  of  our 
true  being,  which  is  to  be  found  only  in  union 
with  God. — Sin  is  the  attempt  to  live  apart  from 
God,  or  as  if  there  were  no  God.  It  is  transgression 
of  his  laws.  It  is  the  attempt  to  make  a  world  of 
our  own,  from  which  in  whole  or  in  part  we  try 
to  exclude  God,  and  escape  the  jurisdiction  of  his 
laws.  All  wrong-doing,  all  vice,  all  neglect  of  duty, 
is  in  reality  a  violation  of  the  divine  will.  But  not 
until  the  individual  comes  to  recognize  the  divine 
will,  and  in  spite  of  this  recognition  that  all  duty 
is  divine,  deliberately  turns  aside  from  God  and 
duty  together,  does  vice  become  sin. 

THE  VICE  OF  EXCESS. 

Devotion  to  God  as  distinct  from  or  in  oppo- 
sition to  devotion  to  those  concrete  duties  and 
human  relationship  wherein  the  divine  will  is 
expressed,  is  hypocrisy. — '*  If  a  man  say  I  love  God 
and  hateth  his  brother  he  is  a  liar :  for  he  that 
loveth  not  his  brother  whom  he  hath  seen,  cannot 
love  God  whom  he  hath  not  seen." 

Pure  religion  begins  in  faith  and  ends  in  works. 
It  draws  from  God  the  inspiration  to  serve  in  right- 


20  2  GOD. 

eousness  and  love  our  fellow-men.  If  faith  stop  short 
of  God,  and  rest  in  church,  or  creed,  or  priest ;  if 
work  stop  short  of  actual  service  of  our  fellow-men, 
and  rest  in  splendor  of  ritual  or  glow  of  pious  feel- 
ing, or  orthodoxy  of  belief;  then  our  religion  be- 
comes a  vain  and  hollow  thing,  and  we  become 
Pharisees  and  hypocrites. 

THE   PENALTY. 

The  wages  of  sin  is  death.— The  penalty  of  each 
particular  vice  we  have  seen  to  be  the  dwarfing,  stunt- 
ing, decay,  and  deadening  of  that  particular  side  of 
our  nature  that  is  effected  by  it.  Intemperance 
brings  disease;  wastefulness  brings  want ;  cruelty 
brings  brutality;  ugliness  brings  coarseness;  exclu- 
siveness  brings  isolation  ;  treason  brings  anarchy. 
Just  in  so  far  as  one  cuts  himself  off  from  the  moral 
order  which  is  the  expression  of  God's  will  ;  just  in 
so  far  as  there  is  sin,  there  is  privation,  deadening, 
and  decay.  As  long  as  we  live  in  this  world  it  is 
impossible  to  live  an  utterly  vicious  life;  to  cut  our- 
selves off  completely  from  God  and  his  order  and 
his  laws.  To  do  that  would  be  instant  death.  The 
man  who  should  embody  all  the  vices  and  none  of 
the  virtues,  would  be  intolerable  to  others,  unen- 
durable even  to  himself.  The  penalty  of  an  all- 
round  life  of  vice  and  sin  would  be  greater  than 
man  could  endure  and  live.  This  fearful  end  is  sel- 
dom reached  in  this  life.  Some  redeeming  virtues 
save  even  the  worst  of  men  from  this  full  and  final 
penalty  of  sin.     The  man,  however,  who  deliberately 


THE  PENALTY.  203 

rejects  God  as  his  friend  and  guide  to  righteous 
living;  the  man  who  deliberately  makes  self-will  and 
sin  the  ruling  principle  of  his  life,  is  started  on  a 
road,  which,  if  followed  to  the  end,  leads  inevitably 
to  death.  He  is  excluding  himself  from  that  sphere 
of  good,  that  career  of  service  and  devotion,  where- 
in alone  true  life  is  to  be  found.  He  is  banishing 
himself  to  that  outer  darkness  which  is  our  figurative 
expression  for  the  absence  of  all  those  rewards  of 
virtue  and  the  presence  of  all  those  penalties  of  vice 
which  our  previous  studies  have  brought  to  our 
attention.  ''Sin,  when  it  is  full-grown,  bringeth 
forth  death.  "     "  The  wages  of  sin  is  death.  " 


THE  END. 


INDEX. 


Abstinence,  total,  14-16 

Adulteration.  47 

Affectation,  86,  87 

Alcibiades,  on  personal  appear- 
ance, 22 

Ambition,  true  and  false,  164 

Amusement.  28  ;  seeking,  30 

Animals,  98 

Anxiety,  63 

Aristotle,  on  friendship,  137  ;  on 
pleasure,  187 

Arnold.  M.,  on  insincerity,  105  ; 
on  "  quiet  work,"  39 

Art,  89 

Asceticism,  12 

Bashfulness,  106 

Beauty,  90,  92  ;  how  to  cultivate 
the  love  of,  91  ;  ideal  of,  89 

Benevolence,  118 

Betrayal,  141 

Betting,  a  form  of  gambling,  78 

Brothers,  duties  of,  145 

Browning,  Mrs.  E.  B.,  on  self- 
centered  virtue,  192 

Browning,  Robert,  on  strength, 
72  ;  on  love,  115 

Building  and  loan  associations,  42 

Caird,  John,  on  morality  and  re- 
ligion, 198 

Carelessness,  68,  69 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  on  human  fel- 
lowship, 156  ;   on  work,  32 

Character,  182,  184 

Charity,  1 18 

Cheating,  48 


Childhood,  40 

Children,  duty  of,  to  their  parents, 

145 
Civilization  rests  on  law,  161 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,    on   kindness  to 

animals,  loi 
Confidence,  56 
Conflict  of  duties,  191 
Conscience,  absolute  authority  of, 

181 
Conscientiousness,  180,  182 
Constraint,  176 
Co-operation,  170  ;  two  kinds  of, 

171 
Co-ordination,  60 
Courage,  73,  75  ;  moral,  74 
Cowardice,  moral,  76  ;  the   shame 

of.  79 
Craik,  Mrs.  D.  M.,    on  marriage, 

147 
Cruelty,  102,  103 
Cynicism  regarding  appearance,  21 

Death,  the  wages  of  sin,  202 
Debility,  the  penalty  of  neglected 

exercise,  31 
Debt,  43 

Devotion  of  husband  and  wife,  152 
Discord,  64 
Disease,  17,  18 
Dishonesty,  49 
Dissipation,  193 
Dissoluteness,  193 
Divorce,  148 
Dress,  19,  20,  21 
Drink,  9 
Drunkenness,  13 


805 


206 


INDEX. 


Dude,  the,  23 
Duties,  conflict  of, 
Duty,  2,  187 


[91 


Economy,  42 

Effusiveness,  142 

Eliot,  George,  on  sympathy,  no  ; 

on  happiness,  188 
Emerson,    R.  \V.,   on   friendship, 

140,  143 
Energy,  the  value  of  superfluous, 

26 
Ennui,  30 

Enjoyment,  the  only  true,  86 
Epicurus,  on  the  duty  of  friends, 

139 
Equivalence  in  trade,  46 
Ethics,  I 

Ethics  and  religion,  196 
Example,  responsibility  for,  15 
Exchange,  46 
Excitement,  27 
Exclusiveness,  142 
Exercise,  necessity  of,  25 

Faith,  200 

Falsehood,  the  forms  of,  57 
Family,  the,  144 
Fastidiousness,  23 
Fellowship,  104 
Food,  9 

Foolhardiness,  77 
Forgiveness,  130 
Formalism,  190 
Fortune,  70 

Freedom  is   complete   self-expres- 
sion, 173 
Friendship,  137 

Gambling,  78 

Games,  value  of,  26 

God.  194 

Golden  Rule,  the,  107 

Gossip,  the  mischievousness  of,  57 

Gluttony,  13 

Habit,  3 
Harmony,  90 


Hegel,  on   duty    in   personal  rela- 
tions, 2 
Heredity,  51 

Hill.  Octavia,  on  benevolence,  120 
Holiness,  196 
Home,  149,  150 
Honesty,  47 
Hospitality,  105 
Husband  and  wife,  149 
Hypocrisy,  105-201 

Ideal  of  Beauty,  89 
Idleness,  33 

Independence,  150,  151,  152 
Indorsing  notes,  50 
Indiscriminate  charity,  125 
Individualism,  150,  153,  154 
Industry,  35 
Isolation,  143 

Janet,  Paul,  on  dissipation,  193 
Justice,  128 

Kant,  on  humanity  an  end.  106  ; 
on  importance  of  social  relations, 
109  ;  on  a  lie,  59  ;  on  universal- 
ity as  test  of  conduct,  169 

Keats  on  beauty,  93 

Kindness,  100 

Knowledge,  53 

Law,  uniformity  of,  70 

Laziness,  the  slavery  of,  37  ;  leads 
to  poverty,  39 

Lenity,  134,  135  ;  its  effect  on  the 
offender,  135 

Life  insurance,  42 

Loneliness,  156 

Love,  106,  107,  108,  III 

Lowell.  J.  R.,  on  success,  173 

Loyalty,  148 

Luxury,  the  perversion  of  beauty, 
93 

Lying,  58,  59 

Marriage,  viii,  ix,  146,  153 
Marshall,  J.,  on  conformity  to  rule, 

191 
Martineau,  on  censoriousness,  58 


INDEX. 


207 


Maudsley,  on  hereditary  effects  of 

dishonesty,  51 
Meanness,  51,  174,  175,  177 
Mill,  John  Stuart,  on  pleasure,  187; 

unity  with  fellow-men,  108 
Miserliness,  44,  45 
Moral  courage,  74 
Moroseness,  29 
Morris,  William,  on   simplicity  of 

life,  92 

Nature,  81 
Neatness,  20 
Niggardliness,  124 
Notes,  indorsement  of,  50 

Obscenity,  viii 

Obtuseness,  86,  87 

Officiousness,  176 

Old  age,  provision  for,  40 

Opium  habit,  16 

Orderliness,  66 

Organization,  the  function  of  the 

state,  157 
Overwork,  the  folly  of,  38 

Parents,  duties  of,  to  children, 
vi,  145 

Party,  political,  160 

Patriotism,  160 

Peace,  198 

Perfection,  90 

Place  for  everything,  65 

Plato,  on  virtue  and  vice,  6  ;  refu- 
tation of  the  Cynic,  22  ;  on  obe- 
dience to  laws,  159 

Pleasure,  71,  186 

Politeness,  172 

Politician,  and  statesman,  161 

Potter,  Bishop,  on  giving,  119 

Poverty,  the  causes  of,  117 

Pride,  142 

Prigs,  182 

Procrastination,  62 

Profit-sharing,  170 

Property,  40 

Prudence,  61 

Public  spirit,  171 


Punishment,  the  function  of,  128  • 

good  for  the  wrong-doer,  129 
Purity,  viii 

Quackery,  49 

Raffling,  a  form  of  gambling,  78 

Red-tape,  68 

Reformation,  131 

Reformer,  170;  Religion,  195,  198 

Religion  and  ethics,  196,  199 

Reward  of  virtue,  4 

Rich,  the  idle,  33 

Rights,    our  own,  50 ;  of  others, 

158 
Royce,  J.,  on  regarding  others  as 

persons,  107,  169 
Rules,  183,  191 
Ruskin,  John,  on   the   home,  150; 

on  truth,  54 

Saving,  systematic,  41,  43 
Savings-banks,  42 
Scandal,  the  mischievousness  of,  57 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  on  deceit,  56 
Selfishness,  112  ;    the   penalty  of, 

"5 
Self-indulgence,  192 
Self-interest,  174 
Self-obliteration    for  the   sake   of 

family,  154,  155 
Self-realization,  179 
Self-righteousness,  192 
Self-will,  200 
Sensuality,  ix 
Sentimentality,  113,  114 
Severity,   133,  135  ;    effect  of,  on 

the  offender,  135 
Sexual  passions,  vii 
Shakespeare,  on  music,  95 
Simplicity  of  life,  92 
Sin,  201 

Sisters,  duties  of,  145 
Slavery,  178 
Slovenliness,  22,  23 
Social  ideal,  170 
Society,  167 
Social  responsibility,  15 


jJoS 


INDEX, 


Socrates,  on  obedience  to  law,  159 

Soft  places,  to  be  avoided,  36 

Space,  65 

Speculation,  a  form  of  gambling,  79 

Spencer,  Herbert,  on  abundant 
energy,  27  ;  on  deficient  energy, 
29 

Spendthrift,  the,  45 

Spinoza,  on  the  difficulty  of  excel- 
lence, 97 

Spiritual  life,  the  reward  of  right- 
eousness, 198 

"  Spoils  system,"  162 

Sports,  value  of,  26 

Stagnation,  87 

State,  developed  out  of  the  family, 
157 

Statesman  and  politician,  161 

Stealing,  48 

Stoicism,  71,  no 

Strength,  the  secret  of,  72 

Strife,  the  penalty  of  selfishness, 
"5 

Success,  173 

Superiority  to  fortune,  the  secret 
of,  71 

Sympathy,  123 

System,  66,  67 

Temperance,  10-15 
Temptation,  5 

Terence,  oneness  of  individual  with 
humanity,  106 


Time,  60 
Tobacco,  16,  17 

Trade,  importance  of  learning  a, 
34 

,  equivalence  in,  46 

Tranquillity,  39 
Treason,  163 
Truth,  53,  54 

Ugliness,  94 
Unscrupulousness,  189 

Vengeance,  131, 132 

Veracity,  55 

Vice,  5 

Virtue,  3 

Vulgarity,  akin  to  laziness,  96 

Wastefulness,  44,  45 

Wealth,  36 

Well-being,  the  conditions  of,  118 

Whitman,  Walt,  on  the  feelings  of 
animals,  99 

Whittier,  J.  G.,  on  acting  contrary 
to  convictions,  79 

Wife,  and  husband,  149 

Woman's  sphere,  34 

Wordsworth,  on  books,  53 ;  on 
courage,  75  ;  on  the  influence  of 
Nature,  82,  83,  84  ;  on  neglect- 
ing  Nature,  85  ;  on  cruelty  to 
animals,  102 

Work,  32,  35 


*^One  of  the  most  lynportani  contributions  yet  made  to  literary 
history  by  an  Ajnericati  scholar."— 'J 'he  Outlook. 

BEERS'    ENGLISH    ROMANTICISM— xviii.     century 

By  Professor  HENRY  A.   BEERS  of   Yale.     Gilt   top.      i2mo. 

$2.00. 

JV.  Y.  Times*  Saturday  Review :  "  Remarkably  penetrating^ 
and  scholarly.  .  .  It  is  a  noteworthy  book  by  an  acknowl- 
edged authority  upon  a  most  interesting  period." 

Literature :  "Not  without  its  strong  bearing  upon  contem- 
porary letters.  .  .  The  author  presents  in  himself  a  rare 
combination-a  scholarly  and  historical  knowledge,  which 
places  at  his  command  a  seemingly  inexhaustible  fund  of 
literary  data,  and  a  keen  and  appreciative  taste.  .  .  The 
author  is  always  interesting  and  lucid,  his  analyses  are  clear 
and  profound,  and  his  lighter  details  of  literary  happenings 
are  often  delightfully  amusing.  .  .  A  notable  example  of 
the  best  type  of  unpedantic  literary  scholarship." 

Alfred  W.  Pollard,  the  English  critic :  "  I  have  read  it  with 
great  enjoyment  .  .  .  it  is  a  thoroughly  good  book,  pleas- 
antly written,  and  bringing  together  an  important  mass  of 
facts  and  criticisms." 

Professor  Wtn.  Lyon  Phelps  in  Nem  Haven  Register:  "Its  publi- 
cation is  a  literary  event.  .  .  The  style  is  dignified,  sincere, 
luminous,  and  bright,  with  an  occasional  touch  of  delicate 
humor.  This  is  a  work  that  one  can  read  as  steadily  as  if  it 
were  a  romance  itself." 

Boston  Journal :  "A  fascinating  volume  .  .  .  the  chapters  called 
'The  Landscape  Poets,'  'The  Gothic  Revival,'  and  'Percy 
and  the  Ballads,'  each  has  a  perfection  of  its  own  that  tempts 
one  to  read  it  without  regard  to  sequence.  .  .  In  this  section, 
as  in  many  others  of  the  book,  there  is  a  rare  sympathy  shown 
in  the  bringing  together  of  the  quotations  from  the  poets. 
The  influence  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe  and  her  ilk  is  delightf ally 
illustrated  .  .  .  the  Percy  chapter  is  unique,  and  has  some- 
thing of  the  dramatic  vigor  that  distinguishes  the  old  ballads 
themselves  .  .  .  one  is  loath  to  leave  a  subject  so  admirably 
handled." 

LAVIGNAC'S  MUSIC  AND  MUSICIANS 

Edited  for  America  by  H.  E.  Krehbiel  and  translated  by 
William  Marchant.  With  94  illustrations  and  510  examples 
in  musical  notation.     i2mo.    $3.00. 

A  brilliant,  sympathetic,  and  authoritative  work  covering 
musical  sound,  the  voice,  instruments,  construction  aesthetics, 
and  history. 

In  view  of  the  great  mass  of  information  concentrated  in  this 
single  volume,  and  making  it  practically  a  cyclopedia  of  its 
subject,  the  charm  of  the  author's  style  is  remarkable.  And 
this  style  has  been  most  happily  retained  by  the  translator, 
who  did  a  similar  service  so  well  for  Chevrillon's  I?i  India. 
Mr.  H.  E.  Krehbiel,  author  of  How  to  Liste^i  to  Music  and 
other  popular  books,  has  contnouted  some  interesting  pages 
on  music  in  America  and  given  the  book  the  few  touches, 
such  as  additions  to  the  bibliographies,  that  it  needed  to  fit  it 
for  American  readers.  The  illustrations  are  numerous, 
especially  those  of  orchestral  instruments,  and  many  ex- 
amples in  musical  notation  elucidate  the  text. 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,   ^  ^^e^^??*"""* 


^d  Impression  of 

FRANCKE'S  SOCIAL  FORCES  IN 
GERMAN   LITERATURE. 

By  Prof.  KUNO  FRANCKE  of  Harvard. 

577  pp.     8vo.     $2.00,  net. 

A  critical,  philosophical,  and  historical  account  of  German 
Hterature  that  is  "destined  to  be  a  standard  work  for  both 
professional  and  general  uses  "  {Dial),  and  that  is  now  being 
translated  in  Germany.  Its  wide  scope  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that  it  begins  with  the  sagas  of  the  fifth  century  and  ends  with 
Hauptmann's  mystical  play  "  Hannele,"  written  in  1894. 

"The  range  of  vision  is  comprehensive,  but  the  details  are 
not  obscured.  The  splendid  panorama  of  German  literature  is 
spread  out  before  U3  from  the  first  outburst  of  heroic  song  in  the 
dim  days  of  the  migrations,  down  to  the  latest  disquieting  pro- 
ductions of  the  Berlin  school.  We  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to 
the  author  who  has  led  us  to  a  commanding  height  and  pointed 
out  to  us  the  kingdoms  of  the  spirit  which  the  genius  of  Ger- 
many has  conquered.  The  frequent  departures  from  the  ortho- 
dox estimates  are  the  result  of  the  new  view-point.  They  are 
often  a  distinct  addition  to  our  knowledge.  .  .  .  To  the  study 
of  German  literature  in  its  organic  relation  to  society  this  book 
is  the  best  contribution  in  English  that  has  yet  been  published." 
—  'J 'he  N' at  ion. 

•'  It  is  neither  a  dry  summary  nor  a  wearisome  attempt  to 
include  every  possible  fact.  ...  It  puts  the  reader  in  centre 
of  the  vital  movements  of  the  time.  .  .  .  One  often  feels  as 
if  the  authors  treated  addressed  themselves  personally  to  him; 
the  discourse  coming  not  through  bygone  dead  books,  but 
rather  through  living  men." — Prof.  Friedrich  Paulsen  of  Univer^ 
sity  of  Berlin. 

"  A  noble  contribution  to  the  history  of  civilization,  and 
valuable  not  only  to  students  of  German  literature,  but  to  all 
who  are  interested  in  the  pvogress  of  our  race." — The  Hon. 
Andrew  D.   White,  ex-President  of  Cornell  University. 

**  For  the  first  time  German  literature  has  been  depicted 
with  a  spirit  that  imparts  to  it  organic  unity  .  .  .  rich  in  well- 
weighed,  condensed  judgments  of  writers  .  .  .  not  mere  re- 
wordings  of  the  opinions  of  standard  critics.  .  .  ,  The  style 
is  clear,  crisp,  and  unobtrusive;  .  .  .  destined  to  be  a  standard 
work  for  both  professional   and  general  uses." —  The  Dial, 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  29  W.  23D  St.,  New  York. 


*^  It  covers  almost  every  known  phase  of  its  subject^  .  .  .  and  yet  it  iM 
compact  and  readable.^'' — Outlook, 

LAVIGNAC'S   MUSIC  AND  MUSICIANS 

By  Professor  ALBERT  Lavignac  of  the  Paris  Conservatory,  au- 
thor of  "  The  Music  Dramas  of  Richard  Wagner."  Edited  for 
America  by  H.  E.  KkEHBlEL,  author  of  "How  to  Listen  to 
Music,"  and  translated  by  WILLIAM  INlARCHANT.  With  94 
illustrations  and  510  examples  in  musical  notation.  i2mo. 
$3.00.    (Descriptive  circular  free.) 

A  brilliant,  sympathetic,  and  authoritative  work  covering 
musical  sound,  the  voice,  instruments,  construction  aes- 
thetics, and  history.  Practically  a  cyclopedia  of  its  subject, 
with  1000  topics  in  the  index. 

IV.  J.  Henderson  in  N.  Y.  Times''  Saturday  Review :  "A 
truly  wonderful  production  .  .  .  along  and  exhaustive  ac- 
count of  the  manner  of  using  the  instruments  of  the  orches- 
tra, with  some  highly  instructive  remarks  on  coloring  .  .  . 
harmony  he  treats  not  only  very  fully,  but  also  in  a  new  and 
intensely  interesting  way  .  .  .  counterpoint  isdiscussedwith 
great  thoroughness  .  .  .  it  seems  to  have  been  his  idea  when 
he  began  to  let  no  interesting  topic  escape.  He  even  finds 
space  for  a  discussion  of  the  beautiful  in  music  .  .  .  The 
wonder  is  that  the  author  has  succeeded  in  making  those 
parts  of  the  book  which  ought  naturally  to  be  dry  so  read- 
able. Indeed,  in  some  of  the  treatment  of  such  topics  as 
acoustics  the  professor  has  written  in  a  style  which  can 
be  fairly  described  as  fascinating  .  .  .  harmonics  he  has  put 
before  the  reader  more  clearly  than  any  other  writer  on  the 
subject  with  whom  we  are  acquainted.  .  .  The  pictures  of 
the  instruments  are  clear  and  very  helpful  to  the  reader  .  .  . 
It  should  have  a  wide  circulation.  .  .  It  will  serve  as  a  general 
reference  book  for  either  the  musician  or  the  music-lover.  It 
will  save  money  in  the  purchase  of  a  library  by  filling  the 
places  of  several  smaller  books  .  .  .  it  contains  references  to 
other  works  which  constitute  a  complete  directory  of  musical 
literature.  .  .  Taking  it  all  in  all,  it  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant books  on  music  that  has  ever  been  published." 

"  One  of  the  most  important  contributions  yet  made  to  literary 
history  by  an  American  scholar  J"— Outlook. 

BEERS'    ENGLISH    ROMANTICISM— xvni.     century 

By  Professor  HENRY  A.  Beers  of  Yale.  2d  impression.  Gilt 
top.    i2mo.    $2.00. 

New  York  Co7mnercial  Advertiser  :  "  The  individuality  of  his 
style,  its  humor,  its  color,  its  delicacy  .  .  .  will  do  quite  as 
much  to  continue  its  author's  reputation  ashis  scholarship.  .  . 
The  work  of  a  man  who  has  studied  hard,  but  who  has  also 
lived." 

New  York  Times''  Saturday  Review  :  "  Remarkably  pene- 
trating and  scholarly.  .  .  It  is  a  noteworthy  book  by  an 
acknowledged  authority  upon  a  most  interesting  period." 

New  York  Tribune  :   "  No  less  instructive  than  readable." 

Nation:  "  Always  interesting.  .  .  On  the  whole,  may  be  com- 
mended as  an  excellent  popular  treatment  of  the  special  sub- 
ject of  the  literary  revival  of  mediaevalism  in  the  eighteenth 
century  in  England." 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,   ^^  ^W^^rt''*^' 

iv'99 


Two  Masterpieces  on  Education 


JAMES'S  TALKS  TO  TEACHERS  ON 
PSYCHOLOGY 

AND  TO  STUDENTS  ON  SOME  OF  LIFE'S  IDEALS.  By 
William  James,  Professor  in  Harvard  University.  Author 
of  "  The  Principles  of  Psychology,"  etc.  xi  +  301  pp.,  i2mo, 
gilt  top.     $1.50,  net. 

In  writing^  these  "  Talks  "  out,  the  author  has  gradually  weeded  out  as  much 
as  possible  of  the  analytical  technicalities  of  the  science,  while  preserving  all 
of  the  coQcrete  practical  applications.  In  their  present  form,  they  contain  a 
minimum  of  what  is  deemed  "  scientific  "  in  psychology  and  are  practical  and 
popular  in  the  extreme.  In  the  last  two  articles  the  author  trenches  upon 
ethical  grounds  and  speaks  for  the  rights  of  individualism  in  a  way  which 
readers  of  his  Will  to  Believe  will  recognize. 

Contents :  Psychology  and  the  Teaching  Art ;  The  Stream  of  Consciousness  ; 
The  Child  as  a  Behaving  Organism  ;  Education  and  Behavior  ;  The  Neces- 
sity of  Reactions  ;  Native  and  Acquired  Reactions  ;  What  the  Native  Reac- 
tions Are  ;  The  Laws  of  Habit ;  The  Association  of  Ideas  ;  Interest ;  Atten- 
tion ;  Memory  ;  The  Acquisition  of  Ideas  ;  Apperception  ;  The  Will  :  The 
Gospel  of  Relaxation  ;  On  a  Certain  Blindness  in  Human  Beings  ;  What 
Makes  Life  Significant. 

WALKER'S  DISCUSSIONS  IN 
EDUCATION 

By  the  late  Francis  A.  Walker,  President  of  the  Massachu- 
setts Institute  of  Technology.      Edited  by  James  Phinney 
MUNROE.     342  pp.,  8vo.     $3.00,  net. 
The  author  had  hoped  himself  to  collect  these  papers  in  a  volume. 

The  Dial:  "A  fitting  memorial  to  its  author.  .  .  .  The  breadth  of  his 
experience,  as  well  as  the  natural  range  of  his  mind,  are  here  reflected.  The 
subjects  dealt  with  are  all  live  and  practical.  ...  He  never  deals  with  them 
in  a  narrow  or  so-called  'practical '  way." 

Literature :  "  The  distinguishing  traits  of  these  papers  are  open-minded- 
ness,  breadth,  and  sanity.  .  .  .  No  capable  student  of  education  will  overlook 
General  Walker's  book  ;  no  serious  collection  of  books  on  education  will  be 
without  it.  The  distinguished  author's  honesty,  sagacity,  and  courage  shine 
on  every  page." 

The  Boston  Transcript :  "  Two  of  his  conspicuous  merits  characterize  these 
papers,  the  peculiar  power  he  possessed  of  enlisting  and  retaining  the  attention 
for  what  are  commonly  supposed  to  be  dry  and  difficult  subjects,  and  the  ca- 
pacity he  had  for  controversy,  sharp  and  incisive,  but  so  candid  and  generous 
that  it  left  no  festering  wound." 

HFlSlRY   HOI  T  ^  TO        29  west  23d  St.,  New  York 
nCiNt\I    nULl    06  V^U.       378  Wabash  Ave.,  Chicago 


SEIGNOBOS^S  POLITICAL  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE 

1814-96.       Translation  edited  by  Prof.  Silas  M.  Macvane,  of 

Harvard.     85o  pp.     8vo.     $^3.00,  net. 
Prof.  Macvane  has  added  to  and  strengthened  the  chapters  on 

Enjrland,  and  otherwise  edited  the  book  for  American  students, 

adding  new  titles  in  the  bibliographies  and  an  index. 

The  Nation:  "Of  the  political  development  of  each  European 
country  since  the  Congress  of  Vienna  he  gives  us  a  summary  which 
is  clear  and  synchronous.  ...  He  states  with  unfailing  impartiality 
the  principles  of  political  sects  and  parties.  .  .  .  Remarkably  dis- 
tinct and  vital,  instead  of  the  desiccated  pith  which  epitomizers  often 
purvey.  .  .  .  Remarkable  for  its  range,  its  precision  of  statement, 
and  its  insight,  an  important  work  on  what  must  be  to  all  of  us  the 
most  important  period  of  recorded  time." 

WALKER^S  DISCUSSIONS  IN  ECONOMICS  AND 
STATISTICS 

By  the  late  General   Francis    A.  Walker,      Edited    by   Prof. 

Davis  R.  Dewey.     With  portrait,    2  vols.   8vo.    %6.oo,  net  special. 

Important   papers  on   Finance,   Taxation,    Money,    Bimetallism, 

Ecotiomic  Theory,  Statistics,  National  Growth,  Social  Economics, 

etc.     The  author's  untimely  death  prevented  him  from  carrying  out 

liis  intention  of  himself  bringing  them  together  in  book  form. 

Uniform  with  th»  abovey  Walker's  Discussions  in  Education. 
8vo.     $3.00,  net  special. 
Circular  of  others  of  General  Walker's  works  on  application. 

THOMPSON'S  MEMOIR  OF  DEAN  H.  G.  LIDDELL 

By  Henry  L.  Thompson,  Vicar  of  St.  Mary's,  Oxford.  Illus- 
trated,    8vo.     $5.00,  net  special. 

A  biography  of  the  great  lexicographer  of  Liddell  &  Scott's  Dic- 
tionary, by  his  life-long  friend.  The  volume  contains  four  fine 
portraits,  several  views  of  important  places  in  Oxford,  and  some 
fac-similes  of  drawings  by  Liddell  himself. 

N.  Y,  Tribune :  "Extremely  interesting  .  .  .  impressive.  .  .  . 
It  contains  some  attractive  anecdotes  of  the  Dean's  contemporaries 
(including  Thackeray,  Ruskin,  Canning,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  in 
his  boyhood).  ,  .  .  The  impression  that  remains  after  a  perusal  of 
his  biography  is  that  of  an  inspiring  and  even  lovable  man.  .  .  .  He 
moves  through  Mr.  Thompson's  pages  the  ideal  scholar,  the  type  of 
all  that  is  most  elevated  and  most  enduring,  if  not  most  brilliant  in 
the  life  of  the  English  Universities." 

RAE^S   RICHARD   BRINSLEY   SHERIDAN 

A  biography,  by  W.   Fraser    Rae.     With  an   introduction  by 

Sheridan's  great-grandson,  the  Marquess   of   Dufferin   and   Ava*. 

With  portraits.,  etc.     2  vols.     8vo.     $7,00 

The  Dial :  "  His  book  at  once  takes  its  place  as  the  standard  one 
on  the  subject — the  one  in  which  the  real  Sheridan,  as  contradis- 
tinguished from  the  half-mythical  Sheridan  of  previous  memoirs,  is 
portrayed  with  all  attainable  clearness.  To  release  this  brilliant  and 
singularly  winning  and  human  figure  from  the  region  of  largely 
calumnious  fiction  was  a  worthy  task." 

Review  of  Reviews :  "The  best  biography  of  Sheridan  in  ex- 
istence." 

HENRY  HOLT   &  CO.    ^'^  ^%=i,^?|rr-^ 

X'99 


